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SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 



other Books by 

CONSTANCE ELIZABETH MAUD 

Wagnee's Heboes 

Wagner's Heeoines 

The Rising Generation 

An English Girl in Paris 

My French Friends 

Felicity in France 

A Daughter of France 

Memoirs of Mistral (transl.) 

No Surrender 

Angelique (Le P'tit Chou) 



Other Boohs hy 

MARY MAUD (M. LANDON) 

How the Garden Grew 
Mid Pleasures and Palaces 




a 
^ 



>2 



SHAKESPEARE'S 
STORIES 



BY 

CONSTANCE AND MARY MAUD 



ILLUSTRATED 



NEW YORK 
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 

London: Edward Arnold 
1913 



vp 



COPTRIGHT, 1913, Br 

EDWARD ARNOLD 



All rights reserved 



THE* PLIMPTON 'PRESS 
NORWOOD' MASS'U-S- A 



TO 

WILHEMINA 
DIANA AND DAVID 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

As You Like It 3 

Romeo and Juliet 38 

Twelfth Night 82 

Macbeth 125 

The Tempest 162 

King Lear 211 

A Midsummer Night's Dream 241 

The Merchant of Venice 267 

Hamlet 303 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



** We that have free souls, it touches not : let the 
galled jade wince, our withers are unwrung/' 

Frontispiece 

** Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune. 
That could give more, but that her hand lacks 
means " To Face Page 8 

** If I profane with my unworthiest hand 
This holy shrine " — 46 

"Sweet lady, Ho, Ho!" 108 

** Hie thee hither 
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; 
And chastise with the valour of my tongue 
All that impedes thee — " 130 

" Yes, for a score of kingdoms you would wrangle, 
And I would call it fair play." 208 

" How, how, Cordelia ! Mend your speech a little. 
Lest it may mar your fortunes." 212 

" There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest. 
For I did dream of moneybags to-night." . . . 280 



SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 



SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

AS YOU LIKE IT 
CHAPTER I 

ALONG time ago there lived in France two fair 
maidens named Rosalind and Celia. They 
loved each other so well they were inseparable as two 
cherries on one stalk, and whether waking or sleep- 
ing, never were happy out of each other's company. 

Rosalind and Celia were cousins, for their fathers 
were brothers. The father of Rosalind was the 
rightful lord over a great province in France, but his 
brother Frederick, Celia's father, had wrongfully 
seized the dukedom and banished his elder brother 
into a far country. He had, however, kept the lit- 
tle Rosalind to be a playmate for his only child Celia. 
All this had happened when the two were little chil- 
dren, but Rosalind could well remember her kind, 
good father, and the thought of his hard fate often 
made her very sad. Her mother, like Celia's, had 
died when she was too young to know of the loss. 

Celia, who would have done anything to spare 
Rosalind's sorrow, always tried to comfort her, bid- 
ding her look upon her uncle Frederick as though 



4. SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

he were father to them both, since they were in truth 
like sisters. She promised, too, that the kingdom 
should be Rosalind's at Duke Frederick's death. 

" What he hath taken away perforce I will ren- 
der thee again in affection, by mine honour, I will," 
said Celia. " Therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear 
Rose, be merry." 

But it was not the kingdom that Rosalind wanted, 
nor another father, but her own banished and 
wronged, whom she could never forget. Still, to 
please Celia, she often tried to laugh and be gay 
when she felt in truth more like weeping. 

One day, Duke Frederick had a wrestling match 
at the palace, and Celia and Rosalind were invited 
to attend. The champion wrestler was one Charles, 
whom as yet no one had been able to overthrow. He 
was a big, powerful Goliath, and one after another 
stood up before him, only to be knocked down like 
ninepins, lucky if they escaped with merely broken 
bones and lived to fight another day. 

Just as the two young Princesses came on the 
scene, a tall, fair youth advanced dauntlessly, and 
challenged the terrible Charles as though it were a 
mere pastime he undertook. 

The Duke called him aside, feeling a sudden liking 
for the young man on account of his gallant bearing : 

" Be warned," he said, " how you match your 
youth and inexperience against so redoubtable a 
champion. Take example by those who have gone 
before you and retire while there is yet time." 

" Nay, I beseech you, my liege — rather than go 



AS YOU LIKE IT 6 

back where I have ventured forth I would lose my 
life ten times over," replied the young man. 

This speech but increased the Duke's desire to save 
the too daring youth. He appealed to his daughter 
and niece, bidding them see if they could not deter 
him with their soft entreaties. 

Rosalind and Celia were already following with 
keen interest the preparations for the fight. 

" Alas ! he is indeed too young," cried Celia ; " yet 
he looks so sure of success," she added as the youth 
threw back his head proudly, and faced the grim 
Charles with an indifferent glance. Rosalind's eyes 
were fixed on him, too, but she said nothing. 

*' Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau," said 
Celia to one of the attendant courtiers, who hastened 
to obey the young Princess, and presently the youth 
stood bowing before them. 

" We pray you for your own sake do not under- 
take this unequal combat," said Celia earnestly. 
" You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength ;' 
we beg you give up the attempt." It was true he had 
seen three men already mortally wounded before the 
Princesses arrived. But Rosalind, noting how the 
young man's cheek flushed with wounded pride, knew 
he cared more for his honour than for life. 

" If you will retire, young sir," she said, " we 
undertake that your noble reputation shall in no way 
suffer, for it is we who will beg the Duke that for our 
sakes the wrestling be stopped now." 

Rosalind's soft brown eyes were filled with such 
tender concern and her voice held such gentle 



e SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

entreaty, that the young man fell in love with her 
then and there. He was in an awkward fix, however, 
for though to deny her request was hard, yet to 
show himself a coward in her eyes was far harder. 
So he answered : 

" I beseech you, fair and gracious ladies, do not 
punish me by thinking hard thoughts of me for deny- 
ing your request, but on the contrary, let your gentle 
wishes and your kind glances go with me to this trial. 
After all if I fail and am killed, it will not matter, 
for I am willing enough to die, having nothing to live 
for. I shall do my friends no injury, for I have none 
to lament me, and my place will soon be filled by a 
better man.'' 

It seemed sad indeed to think of one so young and 
brave in so lonely a condition, and the hearts of both 
maidens were filled with sympathy. 

" How I wish I could help you to win ! " sighed 
Rosalind. 

" And I, too," added Celia. 

^' Come," shouted the big champion, " where is 
this young gallant who is so desirous of sleeping in 
Mother Earth? " 

" Ready," cried Orlando, for that was the youth's 
name. 

" Hercules go with you," said Rosalind, but she 
knew, as Orlando bowed before her, that he would 
rather have her sympathy go with him than the 
strength and protection of all the Olympians. And 
knowing that he had this sympathy, Orlando felt 
the strength of the strong god race through his 



AS YOU LIKE IT T 

limbs, and fought as he had never fought before. 
The Duke, who had begun by fearing for the young 
man, soon found his fears turning to amazement, 
as he perceived the redoubtable champion having 
much ado to hold his own. Rosalind and Celia 
watched, breathless with anxiety. Suddenly there 
was a loud shout from the spectators — Charles, 
the wrestler, was overthrown. 

" No more, no more ! " cried the Duke, wishing the 
fight to end there. But Orlando besought him 
they might continue, saying he was not even out of 
breath. 

" And Charles, how art thou.^* " inquired the Duke. 
But from the prostrate figure on the ground came 
no reply. 

" He cannot speak," said Le Beau. And the 
champion was carried off unconscious. The fight 
was ended. 

The Duke turned graciously to the young victor 
and inquired his name. But his smile was suddenly 
overclouded on hearing him reply he was Orlando, 
the youngest son of Sir Roland de Boys, a knight who 
had been a staunch follower and friend of the ban- 
ished Duke. 

" Fare thee well," he said, rising abruptly with a 
troubled frown. " Thou art a gallant youth, but 
I would thou hadst told me of another father." So 
saying he left the ground, followed by his retinue. 

" I am more proud to be Sir Roland's son than 
were I Duke Frederick's heir," said the young man, 
as he stood gazing after the offended Duke. 



8 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Rosalind and Celia had listened with deep interest 
to the conversation that passed. 

" Let us go thank him and encourage him," said 
Celia. " My father's harshness sticks me at heart." 

Rosalind was only too anxious to do so, for her 
father, she knew, had loved Sir Roland as his own 
soul. While Celia spoke kind words of gracious 
praise, she took the chain from her neck, and present- 
ing it to Orlando, begged him to wear it for her 
sake. 

" I, like yourself, am unfortunate, or I would give 
more," said she. Then, feeling shy at having said 
so much to one who was a stranger, she turned to 
go. Celia, too, bade him farewell. 

"May I not even thank you?" cried Orlando, in 
despair at seeing them depart. 

Rosalind turned back again. After all, she felt 
that to one who was the son of her father's dearest 
friend she ought to be very nice and kind. So she 
told him again how well he had wrestled, and added 
that he had overthrown more than his enemies. Then 
she said, " Fare you well," and hurried away. 

Orlando gazed after her and sighed, and then 
began kissing fervently the chain she had hung round 
his neck. His pleasant thoughts were soon inter- 
rupted, however, by Le Beau, who came up and 
warned him in friendly fashion that if he valued 
his life he had best be gone without delay, since the 
Duke Frederick was much incensed against him. 

It was with great sorrow that Orlando departed. 




O H 

o eQ 

O O 



^ 



AS YOU LIKE IT 9 

for now he thought never would he see again the 
fair face of Rosahnd. 

Meanwhile, Duke Frederick's ill-humor and sus- 
picion once roused, he could not rest content with 
one victim. For some time past he had felt a grow- 
ing irritation against Rosalind. When people 
praised her beauty and sweetness, it reminded him 
unpleasantly that she was her father's daughter — 
that father he had wronged and who still lived, a 
lurking danger to himself. Being a man of im- 
petuous and moody nature, he suddenly determined 
to banish Rosalind without further delay. He found 
the two cousins as usual together. They had been 
talking of Orlando, and Rosalind had confided to her 
cousin that she had lost her heart to the gallant 
youth. To the gentle Celia it appeared passing 
strange that Rosalind could fall in love so quickly. 
Rosalind did not quite know how to explain it her- 
self, so she gave as a reason that her father had 
loved Orlando's father. But Celia replied that if 
they were to follow in their fathers' steps, she ought 
then to hate Orlando, since Duke Frederick, her 
father, had hated Sir Roland de Boys. Yet, far 
from hating, CeHa owned to quite a kindly feeling 
for the young man. 

" Let me love him for that, then," laughed Rosa- 
lind. 

A day was not far oflF when Celia, too, would learn 
what was this passing strange experience ; but as 
yet she was unversed in any love save that tender 



10 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

affection she had for Rosalind. The maidens'* 
pleasant talk was suddenly interrupted by the Duke, 
who approached them, his eyes full of anger. 

" Mistress Rosalind," he cried, " despatch you 
with your fastest haste, and get you from our 
Court." 

Rosalind heard him with bewilderment: 

"Me, uncle.?" she asked. 

*' Ay — you, niece," he answered angrily. " If 
within ten days thou art found so near our Court 
as twenty miles, thou diest for it." 

Both Rosalind and Celia listened to this stern 
decree in blank amazement and despair. 

Rosalind, strong in her innocence of having, either 
by deed or thought, done anything to displease her 
uncle, with gentle dignity begged to know the reason 
for this order. " Never," she assured him, " even in 
thought, did I offend your highness." 

The Duke, conscious of his injustice, took refuge 
in a loud voice and bullying manner. 

" Thus do all traitors speak. . . . They are as 
innocent as grace itself. . . . Let it suffice thee, I 
trust thee not." 

" Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor," 
answered Rosalind boldly. It was just as her father 
himself might have replied, and added fuel to the 
fire of her uncle's wrath. 

" Thou art thy father's daughter ! " he cried. 
*' There's enough." 

" So was I when your highness took his kingdom 
and banished him. My father was no traitor, even 



AS YOU LIKE IT 11 

were treason inherited, which it is not," Rosalind 
told him proudly. 

Celia listened to them in fear and anxiety; but 
she was no coward, though so gentle. 

" Dear Sovereign, hear me speak." She laid her 
hand gently on her father's arm. Instantly his 
voice and look softened as he turned to his beloved 
daughter. 

" Ay, Celia," he said, " it was but for your sake 
we kept her; else she had gone with her father." 

" I did not then entreat to have her stay. It was 
your pleasure and your own remorse," said Celia. 
" I was too young to know how to value her, but 
now," she pleaded, " I know her and love her so that 
I cannot live without her." 

" She is too clever for thee," said the Duke. 
^' Thou art a fool. She robs thee of thy name and 
steals the affection of thy people from thee by her 
smooth words and her silent patience. When she is 
gone it will be better every way for thee. Firm and 
irrevocable is my doom which I have passed on her. 
She is banished." 

Then the gentle Celia rose to the occasion and 
showed of what a strong, loyal soul she was pos- 
sessed. 

" Pronounce that sentence, then, on me, my liege," 
she said. " I cannot live out of her company." 

The Duke waved her aside scornfully. 

" You are a fool." Then to Rosalind : " You, 
niece, prepare yourself. If you outstay the time, 
upon mine honour and in the greatness of my word, 



12 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

you die!" So saying, he turned majestically and 
left them. 

Both Rosalind and Celia knew now that there was 
no hope of turning the hard Duke from his purpose. 
They determined, therefore, to escape together to 
the Forest of Arden in search of Rosalind's father. 
They knew that their departure would soon be dis- 
covered, and search be made for the Princess Celia, 
who was heir to her father's crown. They decided, 
therefore, to wear a disguise in order to mislead their 
pursuers and avert the dangers which might confront 
two young Princesses travelling alone and un- 
protected. Rosalind, being the taller, attired her- 
self as a young man of low estate, while Celia, in 
poor mean raiment, went as his sister, both besmirch- 
ing their fair faces with brown stain till they were 
the colour of gipsies. Their names, too, they 
changed, Rosalind adopting the name of Ganymede, 
and Celia that of Aliena. 

They determined to take with them but one at- 
tendant, and that no other than the Court Fool, Mas- 
ter Touchstone. Some people may think this a 
strange choice, and that two young Princesses start- 
ing alone on an unknown journey would rather have 
had an able-bodied swordsman; or, bethinking them 
of the difficulty of obtaining food, that they would 
have engaged the services of a cook, or perhaps a 
lady's maid, since never in their lives had they 
dressed without the assistance of one. But think how 
wise, after all, were these young maids. Though 
so little experienced, they realized that such hard- 



AS YOU LIKE IT 13 

ships as were Kkelj to befall them would count for 
little were they only kept thoroughly amused in 
cheerful company, and this they knew they would 
be with the Fool — who was no fool. Under the 
cover of his cap and bells and motley coat he had 
always enjoyed a perfect liberty of speech permitted 
to no one else in the Palace. From him you got no 
empty compliments and soft phrases, and the relief 
of this to ladies brought up in Court circles cannot 
be imagined, for too much sugar is a far worse evil 
than none. 

So soon as all slept and quiet reigned in the 
Palace, these three stole out noiselessly into the night 
and made their escape " by an unfrequented path 
through the gardens, Rosalind and Celia taking with 
them money and jewels carefully concealed under 
their homely cloaks. 

Thanks to their disguise, all went well, and though 
next morning the Duke, in a fine tantrum, sent out 
to search the country high and low for his missing 
daughter, none thought of looking for her in such 
humble company as that of two footsore pedlars in 
dusty, patched garments, her own no better. 

Their journey, which perforce was made on foot, 
was long and tedious, and when at last they succeeded 
in reaching the great Forest of Arden all three were 
ready to drop with fatigue. Far as the eye could 
see was no sign of any human habitation. Celia 
declared she could go no farther, and sat down under 
the great towering trees. 

Rosalind called to a passing shepherd and in- 



14 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

quired whether in this great desert love or money 
could buy a bed and food, for, said she, pointing 
to Ceha, this young maid is faint and weary. 

The shepherd, a kind-hearted fellow, replied that 
there was no place for miles around, save a small cot- 
tage near by, and that was for sale, together with the 
sheep and pasture which went with it. He feared, 
however, they would find but simple fare, and little 
of that, though to what there was he bade them 
welcome, since he had charge of the sale. Gladly 
they followed him to this haven of rest, and finding 
they liked the place, Rosalind and Celia bought the 
little cottage, the pasture, and the flocks, and en- 
gaged the honest shepherd to remain in their service. 
That night they slept soundly and happily beneath 
their own humble roof, more pleased than if they 
were lodged in any palace. 

CHAPTER II 

The ladies Rosalind and Celia thoroughly en- 
joyed their life as shepherd and shepherdess in the 
forest. Never had they felt so happy and free. No 
tiresome Court ceremonies, no rules and etiquette. 
They kept just the hours they liked and had their 
simple meals under the greenwood trees. It was 
a perpetual picnic, and for company what better 
could they have than each other and the funny 
Touchstone, who was so clever and amusing that he 
could make you laugh even when lost in a desert, 
footsore and starving. 



AS YOU LIKE IT 15 

They had not yet found RosaHnd's father. The 
forest was not only vast but very densely wooded, 
which, no doubt, partly accounts for this fact, for 
he was in truth not far from the very cottage in 
which they dwelt. Sometimes in the distance they 
heard the sound of the huntsmen's horns, but little 
did they dream these hunters were no other than 
Duke Ferdinand and his followers. 

One day, wandering in the forest, Rosalind saw, 
to her surprise, her own name carved in large letters 
on the bark of a tree. Going on a little farther, she 
saw another tree decorated in the same manner, and 
hanging from one of the branches a letter addressed 
to " Rosalind." She plucked this strange fruit, and 
her heart beat quickly. Who could have carved her 
name on the trees .f* Was it her father the Duke? 
Perhaps the letter would explain. But the letter 
was in verse and did not seem to be the kind of thing 
a father, who was not a poet, would write, specially 
one who had not seen his daughter since she was a 
child. It puzzled Rosalind so much she read it 
aloud. Tliis was the poem: 

" From the East to Western Ind, 
No jewel is like Rosalind. 
Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 
Through all the world bears RosaHnd. 
All the pictures fairest limned 
Are but black to Rosalind. 
Let no face be kept in mind 
But the fair of Rosalind." 



16 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

As she read aloud and pondered on these words, 
Rosalind did not notice that Touchstone had 
approached and was listening. As she concluded he 
burst out laughing5 and made fun of the poem, say- 
ing he could rhyme better than that by the yard 
himself. 

Rosalind liked the verses — how could she help it.? 
— and for once felt very annoyed with the Fool. 
But he laughed the more, and began to mimic the un- 
known poet : 

*' Sweetest nut hath sourest rind. 
Such a nut is Rosalind. 
He that sweetest rose will find 
Must find love's prick and Rosalind.'* 

This vexed Rosalind, but Touchstone went on teas- 
ing her, and when she said she had found the verses 
on a tree, he replied, " Truly the tree yields bad 
fruit." 

They were interrupted by Celia, who came upon 
them also reading verses she had found on another 
tree. It was like the first poem, all about Rosalind. 
Celia sent away Touchstone, and then inquired of 
Rosahnd whether she was not surprised to find her 
name carved upon the trees and verses hanging from 
the boughs. 

Rosalind replied she had been overcome with won- 
der even before Celia appeared. 

" Can you guess who has done this ? " said Celia, 
her eyes twinkling as though she knew a secret. 

" Is it a man? " asked Rosalind. 



AS YOU LIKE IT IT 

" With a chain, that you once wore, about his 
neck," added Celia, with a laugh. 

"Who is it? I beg j[ou say," entreated Rosa- 
lind. 

" Oh lord ! It is a hard matter for friends to 
meet." Celia gave a mock sigh. " Easier far for 
mountains — they can be removed by earthquakes 
and so encounter " 

" Nay, but who is it? " repeated Rosalind. 

" Oh it is wonderful, wonderful, most wonderful," 
went on Celia mockingly. 

" Is his head worth a hat or his chin worth a 
beard? " demanded Rosalind. 

" Nay, he hath but little beard," said Ceha. " It 
is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's 
heels and your heart both in the same instant," she 
added, laughing outright. 

Rosalind doubted that she was still making fun of 
her, and to her this was no laughing matter, but very 
sober earnest, 

" The devil take mocking," she answered im- 
patiently ; " speak the truth." 

" In faith, cousin, 'tis he," rephed Celia, this time 
seriously. But Rosalind, instead of looking joyful, 
was the image of despair. 

" Alas the day ! What shall I do with my doublet 
and hose? " she cried. " Where is he? What did he 
say? When did you see him? Where did you leave 
him? When will you see him again? Answer me 
quick ! " 

" My mouth is not of a size to answer so many 



18 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

questions at once ; it would require a dozen tongues," 
said Celia. 

" Well, say quick : does he know I am in this forest, 
and wearing men's clothes? Is he looking as well as 
the day he wrestled, or has he grown thinner? " she 
asked anxiously. 

" It is not easy to answer all the questions of a 
lover," said Celia ; " but to answer one — I found him 
under a tree, like a dropt acorn." 

" Go on," said Rosalind. 

" There lay he, stretched along like a wounded 
knight." 

" A wounded knight ! " cried Rosahnd, in sudden 
alarm. 

But Celia told her there was no cause to fear, for 
the young man was dressed like a hunter. 

" He comes to kill my heart," sighed Rosalind, but 
much relieved. 

" Soft ! " whispered Celia suddenly ; " listen ! 
There are voices ; someone is coming. It is he ! " 

Quickly they withdrew under the shadow of the 
trees. And, sure enough, who should Rosalind see 
in the distance but Orlando approaching with another 
man in hunter's dress. It was Jacques, one of the 
lords in attendance on the banished Duke; but this, 
of course, they did not know. The two men did not 
appear to be enjoying each other's society; in fact, 
the first thing the maidens overheard was this same 
Jacques remarking wearily that he would much prefer 
to be walking alone. Orlando answered promptly 
that this was precisely his own feeling. 



AS YOU LIKE IT 19 

This did not appear to offend the other ; he seemed 
merely bored — bored to death by his companion. 
This is an effect that people in love have often, even 
in these days, upon people who do not happen to be 
in love. 

" God be with you," said he in a gentle, pitying 
tone. " Let us meet as little as we can." 

Orlando did not like his tone, while as for Rosa- 
lind, her blood boiled with indignation. 

" I desire only that we may be better strangers," 
rejoined Orlando. 

" I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love- 
songs in their barks," observed Jacques coldly. 

" I pray you, mar no m'ore of my verses with mis- 
reading them so vilely," Orlando retorted hotly. 

The murder was out ; no doubt now about the cause 
of disagreement. It was clear from this Jacques also 
had plucked a poem, and had been caught by the 
author reading it aloud, and reading it badly. 

" Rosalind is your love's name? " inquired Jacques 
more civilly. 

And poor Orlando, for lack of a better confidant, 
and because lovers love to speak of their beloved to 
anyone rather than no one, answered that it was. 
Both maidens were listening intently. Rosalind 
noticed that Orlando wore her chain. 

" I do not like her name," remarked Jacques, with 
a bored sigh. 

" There was no thought of pleasing you when she 
was christened," said Orlando; and Rosalind laughed 
to herself for joy to hear him. 



20 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" How tall is she ? " Jacques asked. 

" Just as high as mj heart," replied Orlando 
proudly. 

His hand stole softly to the chain round his 
neck, and the heart of Rosalind beat in tune with 
his own, 

" You have a nimble wit," said Jacques, " and are 
full of pretty answers. Sit down here with me, and 
let us rail against our mistresses, the world, and all 
our misery." 

Jacques sat down under a tree and sighed 
profoundly. 

" I will rail against no one but myself, against 
whom I know most faults," said Orlando. Rail 
against his mistress Rosalind, indeed ! — his goddess, 
his star! 

Jacques looked at him with a gentle, melancholy 
gaze. 

" The worst fault you have is to be in love," he 
remarked regretfully. 

" 'Tis a fault I would not change for your best 
virtue," answered Orlando. 

Jacques shrugged his shoulders. Clearly this 
young man's condition was quite hopeless. 

" I was seeking for a fool when I found you," he 
observed quietly. 

*' Your fool is drowned in the brook : look in it and 
you will see him," replied Orlando, with spirit. 

"Meaning me?" said Jacques, with another sigh. 
" Ah well ! I'll tarry no longer with you," he added, 
rising. " Fare you well, good Signor Love." 



AS YOU LIKE IT ^1 

" Adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy," replied 
Orlando, thankful to get rid of him at last. 

" I will go and speak to him like a saucy boy," 
whispered Rosalind to Celia; and they emerged 
together, as if having just arrived on the scene. 
With a careless swagger Rosalind went up to Orlando 
and inquired the time. 

He answered, he could not tell, there being no 
clocks in the forest. But he liked the look of the 
merry youth, and they entered into conversation, 
Rosahnd keeping well to her character of saucy boy. 
CeHa listened, and wondered what she would be up to 
next. After a time Orlando inquired where they 
dwelt. When Rosalind said they were shepherds, 
and hved in the forest, he was puzzled, remarking 
that the youth did not speak with the accent of a 
shepherd, but had a finer speech. 

" So I have been told by many," answered Rosalind 
airily ; " but an old uncle of mine, a priest, taught me 
to speak, and many other things besides," she added. 
" In his youth he once fell in love, and many is the 
lecture I have heard him read against it. I thank 
God I am not a woman to be afflicted with all the 
giddy faults to which that sex are hable — every 
one of them." 

" Indeed ! " said Orlando. " Can you tell me some 
of their faults now — the principal ones?" 

" Oh, there are none principal ; each one seems 
monstrous till its fellow comes to match it." 

" I pray you recount me some of them," Orlando 
begged. 



gg SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

But Rosalind shook her head, saying she kept her 
medicine for those who were sick. Now, if only she 
could find that one who haunted the forest, spoihng 
the young trees with his carvings, and odes hanging 
from every bough, to him she would gladly give some 
wise counsel. 

" I am that very man, so love-shaken," confessed 
Orlando. " I pray you tell me your remedy." 

" Nay, nay," said Rosalind ; " you have none of 
the marks of this complaint upon you." 

" What are the marks ? " asked Orlando. He was 
beginning to find this saucy shepherd-boy very en- 
tertaining. 

"A lean cheek," said the mock shepherd-boy, 
" which you have not, A sunken blue eye, which 
you have not; a doleful spirit, which you have not; 
a neglected beard, which you have not — ^but I par- 
don you for that, since I perceive it has not yet had 
time to grow. Then your stocking should be un- 
gartered, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, 
and everything about you showing a careless deso- 
lation. But you are all spick and span and careful 
of your appearance, as one who loves himself rather 
than someone else." 

Orlando was too much in love to see any joke in 
this or note the twinkle in the shepherd-boy's eye. 
That is another sign of the complaint which Rosa- 
lind forgot to mention — all sense of humour is ob- 
literated for the time. He answered sadly : 

" Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I 
love." 



AS YOU LIKE IT 23 

" Me believe it? " cried Rosalind. " You may as 
soon make her you love believe it. Love is a mad- 
ness," she added, " but I think I can cure it." 

Orlando answered that much as he suffered he had 
no wish to be cured. 

But Rosalind then suggested a cure that Orlando 
thought would divert and amuse him, while still keep- 
ing his thoughts fixed ever on his love. It was this : 
that she, Ganymede, should pretend to be Rosalind, 
and Orlando should come every day to the cottage 
and pretend to make love to her. He agreed gladly. 
" Show me the way to your cottage, good youth," 
he said. 

" Nay, but you must call me Rosalind," said the 
mock shepherd-boy, as she led the way, delighted 
at the success of her little plan. 



CHAPTER III 

From Orlando, Rosalind and Celia very soon learnt 
all about Duke Ferdinand, and great was their joy 
to know he was safe and well and with his followers 
encamped not far off. Rosalind would have made 
herself known to her father then and there, but for 
her desire to keep up her disguise for a while with 
Orlando, and while playing this little game of pre- 
tence, test his love for herself before she let him 
know of her own love for him. 

Orlando had taken refuge in the forest, like Duke 
Ferdinand, to escape from his own brother, who he 



24j SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

discovered to be plotting his destruction. It was 
this brother, Oliver, who had encouraged Orlando to 
challenge the champion wrestler Charles, hoping 
thereby to be rid of him. For Oliver was consumed 
by a deplorable jealousy of his younger brother, 
whom in his secret heart he admired for the noble 
qualities he himself did not possess. When Orlando, 
against all expectation, overthrew the champion, 
Oliver devised a new plot against his life, and would 
have burnt down his house that same night had not 
the faithful old servant, Adam, warned Orlando of 
danger and helped him to escape. 

Together they had made the same journey as 
Rosalind and Celia, and arrived in much the same 
exhausted condition. The poor old Adam was at 
the point of death for lack of food and drink, when 
fortunately Orlando, who had gone in search of 
aid, came upon the Duke and his company just about 
to begin their supper of venison spread out under 
the trees. Hearing his story, the Duke received him 
with a hearty welcome as the son of his old friend 
Sir Roland de Boys. But before Orlando would 
touch a morsel himself he hastened back for old 
Adam, whom he bore in his arms to the Duke's sup- 
per. Food and wine soon restored his strength, and 
from that time he and his young master cast in 
their lot with Duke Ferdinand and his followers. It 
was in this manner Orlando had come to be in the 
company of the melancholy Jacques. 

The little game Rosalind had devised for seeing 
Orlando every day pleased her well, for Orlando, 



AS YOU LIKE IT ^5 

finding a curious likeness between the shepherd-boy 
and his beloved lady, was content enough to go and 
talk of love, and play at being the lover till he could 
do so in good earnest. 

On one occasion he arrived an hour late at the lit- 
tle cottage, Rosahnd rated him soundly : 

" You a lover," she cried, " and break an hour's 
promise in love. An you serve me such another 
trick, never come in my sight more." 

" Pardon me, dear Rosalind," said Orlando, in 
mock repentance. 

" Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my 
sight," repeated Rosalind, pouting. " I had as lief 
be woo'd by a snail." 

So they had their mock quarrels as well as mock 
love-making, and always Orlando found sweet com- 
fort in any excuse for talking of his lady. 

" I take some joy to say you are my Rosalind, be- 
cause I would be talking of her," said he. 

" Well, in her person I say — I will not have you," 
said Rosalind, her eyes sparkling with mischief. 

" Then in mine own person I die," replied Orlando. 

Rosalind laughed lightly. 

" The poor world is almost six thousand years 
old, and in all this time there was not any man died 
in a love cause. The foolish chroniclers have said 
so, indeed, but these are all lies. Men have died 
from time to time and worms have eaten them, but 
not for love." 

" I would not have my Rosalind of this mind, for 
her frown would kill me," said Orlando, with a sigh. 



26 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

The sigh instantly melted the heart of the shepherd- 
boy. 

" By this hand it will not kill a fly," she answered. 
" But come now "— - she smiled on him — "I will be 
your Rosalind in a more on-coming mood, and ask 
what you will, I will grant it." 

" Then love me, Rosalind," said Orlando, with fer- 
vour. 

" Faith will I," she laughed — " Fridays, Satur- 
days, and all." Then they called Celia to join in 
the game and pretend she was the priest to marry 
them. And Celia said with mock solemnity: 

" Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosa- 
lind? " 

" I will," said Orlando heartily, and his thoughts 
flew far away to the Rosalind of his dreams, little 
thinking they had nO' need to fly at all. 

" Tell me, how long would you have her ? " laughed 
Rosalind. 

" For ever and a day," he answered promptl}^ 

" Say a day without the ever," cried Rosalind, 
loving to tease her lover, now she was so sure of him. 
" Men are April when they woo, December when 
they wed. Maids are May when they are maids, 
but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be 
more jealous of thee than a Barberry cock-pigeon 
over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against 
rain ; more new-fangled than an ape, more giddy 
than a monkey. I will weep for nothing like Diana 
in the fountain, and this when you are disposed to 



AS YOU LIKE IT 27 

be merry. I will laugh like a hyena when you are 
inclined to weep." 

"Ah, but will my Rosalind do so?" asked Or- 
lando, somewhat anxiously, for he felt after all he 
knew little of women. 

" By my life," answered his tormentor, " she will 
do as I do." 

" Oh, but she is wise," answered the faithful Or- 
lando. 

" The wiser the waywarder," Rosalind assured 
him. " If you try to stop a woman's wit it will out 
at the window ; stop that, it will out at the keyhole ; 
stop that, it will fly with the smoke out at the chim- 
ney." 

It was strange how much this saucy boy seemed 
to know about women. He not only amused Orlando 
but puzzled him sorely, and for the life of him Or- 
lando could not help being half in earnest over this 
funny game of love-making, because of the youth's 
curious likeness to his lost Rosalind. The hours 
passed quickly in her company, that was certain, 
and on no account would Orlando have missed these 
daily visits to the cottage. 

When he said adieu that day, Celia scolded Rosa- 
lind for carrying the joke too far, but Rosalind shut 
her mouth with kisses. 

" Oh, coz, coz, my pretty coz," she cried, in high 
spirits, " if you but knew how deep I am in love ! 
But no one could measure the depth, for it is deep 
as the bay of Portugal, which has no bottom. I tell 



28 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

thee, Aliena," she said, growing serious for a mo- 
ment, " I cannot live out of sight of Orlando. I'll 

go find a shadow, and sigh till he come." 

• •••••• 

Orlando, when he left Rosalind that day, had prom- 
ised faithfully to be back within two hours, but the 
two hours passed, and still there was no sign of Or- 
lando. Rosalind became impatient for his return; 
waiting under the shadow of the trees and sighing 
was not amusing. Celia teased her by saying, with- 
out doubt her Orlando had gone forth with his bow 
and arrows and fallen asleep out of pure love, think- 
ing of her. 

What had happened was this: Orlando, having 
attended the Duke at dinner according to his duty, 
was on his way back to the cottage, when he saw a 
man lying, ragged and worn, full length under a 
tree, and slowly coiling itself about his neck a huge 
and poisonous snake of green and gold. Never 
thinking of danger to himself, Orlando sprang upon 
the reptile to break its back with his stick, but quick 
as lightning the snake glided off among the bushes. 
Orlando was about to pursue it, when suddenly he 
perceived a second danger. This time it was a lion- 
ess crouching on the ground, her cat-like eyes fixed 
on the sleeping man. He looked at the sleeper, and 
to liis astonishment recognized his own brother Oli- 
ver, he who had plotted so much evil against him. 
For one moment he thought of leaving him to his 
fate and making sure his own escape, but the next 
he leapt upon the lioness, whose mind being occupied 



AS YOU LIKE IT 29 

with the prey she was watching had not even ap- 
peared to see Orlando. Now she turned her atten- 
tion to him, however, and had it not been that she 
was in a weak condition from starvation things would 
have gone badly with Orlando, and Rosalind have 
waited in vain for his return. As it was, after a ter- 
rible struggle, in which Orlando's arm was badly 
hurt, the lioness fell dead at his feet. 

The smashing of branches and growls and groans 
of the wild beast awoke Oliver from his deep sleep. 
He started up to find that the brave youth who had 
slain the lioness was no other than his own brother 
Orlando. 

Tears of repentance stood in his eyes as he clasped 
his brother's hand and begged his forgiveness while 
he thanked him for his life. Then each recounted 
to the other how he came to be in the forest, and Or- 
lando, in his anxiety to get food and decent clothes 
for Oliver, forgot all about his own hurt. Together 
they hastened to the Duke's camp, and there re- 
ceived generous entertainment and fresh array, after 
which Orlando led Oliver to his own cave to rest. 
But by this time Orlando's wounded arm, which had 
never ceased bleeding, suddenly made him faint away 
from loss of blood. Oliver rushed to his assistance, 
laid him gently down, bound up his wound, and soon 
recovered him with a restoring draught. 

As soon as Orlando could speak, he told his 
brother of his promise to return in two hours to the 
shepherd-boy, whom in sport he called his Rosalind; 
and he begged Oliver to hasten to the cottage and 



so SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

explain the events which had happened to delay him, 
so that he might be excused for his broken promise. 

Not until Oliver saw the colour again return to 
his brother's cheek would he be persuaded to leave 
him; then he went, taking with him, in proof of his 
story, a bandage dyed with the blood from Orlando's 
wounded arm. 

Rosalind and Celia, tired of waiting, had wandered 
forth into the forest, no doubt hoping to meet Or- 
lando and rate him soundly for his tardiness. In- 
stead of this, however, they met Oliver, who inquired 
of them the way to the sheepcote fenced about with 
oKve-trees, to which his brother had directed him. 

Celia answered, telling him to follow the stream, 
and on the right bank, where the osiers grew, he 
would find the place, but at this moment there was 
no one in the house. 

Oliver looked from one to the other, and then 
asked if they were not the pair who owned the house, 
and for whom he was looking — a brother and sis- 
ter. 

" We are," said CeKa. 

" Then," answered Oliver, " Orlando doth com- 
mend him to you both, and to this youth he calls his 
Rosalind he sends tliis bandage." 

Rosalind gazed with dismay at the blood-stained 
bandage. 

" What must we understand by this ? " she asked. 

Then Oliver told how Orlando had twice risked his 
life to save that of his elder brother, whom he had 
by accident found asleep and exhausted in the forest. 



AS YOU LIKE IT 31 

" His elder brother ! " cried Celia and Rosalind. 
" But we have heard of him — a most unnatural, un- 
kind brother." 

Oliver agreed with them. " Indeed he was. I 
know him well," he added sadly, " for I am he." 

Both maidens looked at him in astonishment, for 
Oliver, since repenting of his ugly conduct to Or- 
lando, had changed not only within, but also with- 
out, and no one to look at him could have thought 
him capable of unkindness, much less of cruelty. 
His face bore the traces of sorrow and humility, 
and when he confessed frankly all his guilt and his 
deep remorse, the heart of the gentle Celia went out 
to him in sudden pity and 'sympathy. 

"It was I, yet it is no longer I, who had such 
thoughts and did such deeds," he assured her. 

But Rosalind was thinking of her lover more than 
of his brother. 

" What of this blood-stained cloth? " she asked 
anxiously, for as yet she did not know whose blood 
had been shed, nor why Orlando had not come. 

Oliver, wishing to break it gently, had not yet 
spoken of Orlando's wound. Now, however, he re- 
lated all, and how his brother had kept it secret till 
they got to the cave, when on a sudden he had 
fainted for loss of blood. 

And as he told this part of his tale, the shepherd- 
boy, Ganymede, swayed and turned white as a lily 
flower. Celia rushed forward and caught Rosalind 
as she fell. Oliver, too, lent his aid, and comforted 
Celia by saying how many people will swoon when 



32 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

they look on blood, but Celia knew it was more 
than that which had caused her cousin's sudden 
faint. 

It was but for a minute. Rosalind quickly re- 
membered she must not betray herself, and struggled 
to her feet, laughing at herself and declaring it was 
all pretence, just to keep up the character of the 
girl Rosalind. 

But Oliver shook his head. 

" This was not counterfeit ; it was good earnest," 
said he. 

'' Counterfeit, I assure you," murmured Rosa- 
lind, as she leaned on his arm and walked unstead- 
ily. Celia noted how pale her cheek was still, and 
hurried her home, assisted by Oliver. 

" I pray you, tell your brother how well I pre- 
tended," said Rosalind. But Oliver looked at Celia 
and smiled. 

And now that strange thing which had happened 
to Rosalind when she first saw Orlando began 
straightway to happen to Celia. At first she found 
herself moved to pity by Oliver's sad eyes, which 
looked at her so admiringly. Pity, we know, is akin 
to love, and sympathy is, in a sort, first cousin to 
both. From pity Celia passed quickly to sympathy 
as Oliver expressed his deep remorse at having so 
treated a brother of such noble qualities as Orlando. 
And when he proceeded that evening in the cottage 
to tell her of his resolve to make amends by giving 
up all his father's fortune to his brother and living 
as a shepherd in the forest to the end of his days, if 



AS YOU LIKE IT 33 

only a certain sweet shepherdess would consent to 
share his lot, then Celia found that, strange to say, 
she loved. 

Great was the surprise of Orlando when he heard 
how his brother had already wooed and won the fair 
Aliena. 

" Is it possible that on so little acquaintance you 
should like her?" he said; "that but seeing you 
should love her, and loving woo, and wooing, she 
should grant consent? " 

It had never seemed to him the least strange that 
he had fallen in love with Rosalind as she placed 
her chain round his neck, "yet this had taken place 
in even shorter time. But such is the way with peo- 
ple in love. 

It was decided between the brothers that the mar- 
riage of Oliver and Aliena should take place without 
delay, and Orlando undertook to make all the prep- 
arations for a great merrymaking, to which the 
Duke and his followers should be invited. 

When Ganymede, the mock shepherd, came to 
see how Orlando's wound was healing, she found 
him in very low spirits, sighing over his own sad lot. 
The sight of Oliver with his real lady-love had made 
him feel that he could no longer take any comfort 
in the little game of pretence with which he had 
whiled away so many a pleasant hour with Gany- 
mede. 

" How bitter a thing it is to look into happiness 
through another man's eyes ! " said he. 



S4 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" I can no longer serve your turn for Rosalind, 
then? " inquired Ganymede. 

Orlando shook his head despondently^: 

*' I can no longer live on thinking," he replied. 

Then this surprising shepherd-boy told him a 
wonderful secret. 

" If you really love the lady Rosalind as much as 
it seems," said he, " I will cause her to appear 
drest as a bride and ready to marry you in the same 
hour that Aliena is married to your brother Oliver. 
For being versed in magic arts learned from my un- 
cle, a good man though a sorcerer, I can work this 
wonder." 

People in love can swallow a wondrous large dose 
if it promises the thing they desire. And so Or- 
lando, his heart beating high with hope, wisely 
never questioned this tale of sorcerer-uncles and 
magic, but went straight to the point, which was 
getting his true-love by hook or by crook. 

" Speakest thou in sober earnest? " said he, for 
there was a lurking mischief in the eye of this Gany- 
mede. 

" By my life I do," came the ready answer. 
" Therefore, put on your best array, bid your 
friends, for if you will be married you shall, and to 
Rosalind if you will." 

Orlando now hurried off to the Duke to ask his 
permission to marry his daughter, and to tell him 
of the surprising promise made by the shepherd- 
boy. 

" Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy can do 



AS YOU LIKE IT 35 

all this that he hath promised? " said the Duke 
doubtfully. His doubt shook Orlando for a moment, 
and he answered: 

" I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not." 

While they were speaking together, who should 
come up to them but this same shepherd-boy. The 
Duke had met Ganymede before and spoken with 
him, attracted by a curious likeness he perceived to 
his daughter Rosalind, though he had not seen her 
for so many years. He had even wondered if this 
boy might not be some kinsman, and had inquired 
of what parentage he was. 

Thereupon the saucy Ganymede had answered the 
Duke : 

" Of as good as your highness." And the Duke 
had laughed heartily, little dreaming how near the 
truth the saucy boy had spoken. 

Rosalind had already informed the Duke that she 
knew of the whereabouts of his daughter, and she 
now asked him whether he would consent to her mar- 
riage with Orlando, if by her wonderful arts she 
produced the absent Rosalind. 

The Duke, who had the highest opinion of Or- 
lando, agreed willingly, and all being settled to 
everyone's satisfaction, Rosalind went back to her 
cottage to work the wonderful transformation which 
should so surprise and delight her father and lover. 

When Rosalind left them the Duke turned to 
Orlando. 

" Dost thou believe, Orlando," said he, " that the 
boy can do all this that he hath promised? " 



S6 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Orlando, equally perplexed, answered doubtfully : 

" I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do 
not." 

" I do remember in this shepherd-boy some lively 
touches of my daughter's favour," observed the Duke 
thoughtfully. 

*' My lord," answered Orlando eagerly, " the first 
time that I ever saw him methought he was a brother 
to your daughter. But, my good lord," he con- 
tinued, dismissing this idea of a likeness as absurd, 
" this boy is forest born and hath been tutored by 
his uncle, whom he reports to be a great magician, 
obscured in the circle of this forest." 

They had not long to wait before the mystery was 
to be solved. 

Presently came a sound of sweet music, a joyous 
marriage hymn, and through the trees hand in hand 
walked two lovely damsels attired in bridal raiment. 
They were no other than Rosalind and Celia. 

Going up to her father, who could hardly believe 
his eyes for joy, Rosalind first embraced him, say- 
ing: 

" To you I give myself, for I am yours." 

" If there be truth in sight," said the Duke, " you 
are my daughter." 

Then turning to Orlando, who gazed at her in won- 
der and delight, she repeated the same glad words : 

" To you I give myself, for I am yours." 

" If there be truth in sight," cried her happy 
lover, " you are my Rosalind." 



AS YOU LIKE IT 37 

Never was a gayer May-day than the wedding-day 
of Rosalind and Celia, and never were two happier 
couples than these forest lovers. To crown all, just 
as they were in the midst of the marriage feast, a 
messenger rode up in hot haste to tell the Duke a 
most remarkable piece of news. His brother Fred- 
erick had suddenly come to a better mind, repented 
of his sins, and determined to become a holy hermit. 
He now renounced the kingdom and the crown, and 
restored it to his brother, the rightful owner, of 
whom he begged forgiveness. 

So the banished Duke had restored to him on the 
same day his daughter and his kingdom, and added 
to this a son-in-law he loved and trusted. 

Celia, rejoicing in her father's repentance, gladly 
said good-bye for ever to the life of a Princess, and 
settled down happily with her Oliver to the simple 
healthy life of the forest. 



ROMEO AND JULIET 
CHAPTER I 

LONG ago, in old Verona, dwelt two powerful 
families, who for generations had sworn a 
lasting enmity between each other. This family- 
feud included not only every m.ember of the Houses 
of Montague and Capulet, but every man-at-arms 
and every servant in their respective employ. 

The streets of Verona rang perpetually with their 
loud-voiced brawls and the clash of their too-ready 
weapons. They were a nuisance to all peaceable cit- 
izens and a constant danger to each other. When 
the masters were not duelHng the servants kept it up. 
Any absurd trifle served as a pretext for a fight. 
The servant of a Capulet would frown as he passed 
the servant of a Montague, or the latter would bite 
his thumb as he passed a Capulet; this would be re- 
garded, and was intended, as a deadly insult. 
Swords would be drawn, and soon the citizens joined 
in the fray with clubs and sticks ; blood would be 
shed, heads broken, and often lives lost, for the silly 
brawl begun by the tipsy servants was carried on 
by their lords. 

At last the Prince of Verona could put up with 

it no longer. One day he came upon the two old 

chiefs, Montague and Capulet, drawing swords on 

one another, and both about to join in a street fray 

38 



ROMEO AND JULIET 39 

with their young kinsmen. The Prince rebuked 
them sternly, and threatened that if ever they allowed 
their cankered hate again to disturb and disgrace 
the city streets, their lives should pay the forfeit. 

On this occasion, as it happened, the Capulets 
were far more to blame than the Montagues. Ty- 
balt, a nephew of Lady Capulet, a fiery, hot-tem- 
pered young braggart, had set on Benvolio, a nephew 
of old Montague, who was trying to part two fool- 
ish fellows flying at each other's throats. 

Seeing a row going on, he dashed in with drawn 
sword, calhng on Benvolio to look upon his death. 

^' I do but keep the peace," returned Benvolio 
quietly ; " put up thy sw6rd or manage it to part 
these men with me." 

But no use to talk of peace to this young firebrand. 
He shouted in reply that he hated peace, and hated 
all Montagues, Benvolio included. A fight was thus 
forced on Benvolio in which the two old chiefs would 
have joined had not their respective ladies held them 
back till the Prince arrived on the scene, 

" A crutch and not a sword is what you should 
call for," said Lady Capulet to her husband; while 
the Lady Montague laid a firm hand on her fiery old 
lord, telling him he should not stir one foot to seek 
a foe, if she could help it. 

The Montagues had an only son, the very apple 
of their eyes, Romeo by name. A noble and distin- 
guished youth, of whom even his foes spoke well. 
Lady Montague thanked Heaven he had not been in 
this fray, and inquired anxiously of Benvolio, his 



40 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

friend and cousin, whether he had seen him that 
day. 

Benvolio replied that, chancing to take a very 
early morning walk, he had seen Romeo in the dis- 
tance, walking in the grove of sycamores ; but he, 
on catching sight of his friend, had stolen into the 
covert of the wood, clearly desiring solitude. 

Romeo's parents looked at one another and 
sighed. This, they said, was not the first time they 
had heard of these solitary walks before sunrise, ac- 
companied, it was reported, by heavy sighs and 
tears. So soon as the world was awake Romeo would 
return home, but only to lock himself in his own cham- 
ber for the day. This gloomy humour caused them 
grave anxiety. The cause of it was a mystery, for he 
refused to confide in anyone in spite of many en- 
treaties to do so. 

" Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. 
We would as wilUngly give cure as know," 

declared his father. 

Whereupon Benvolio promised to do his best to 
win the confidence of Romeo, and so help towards the 
cure of his mysterious sadness. He had not long 
to wait, for shortly after he came upon Romeo re- 
turning homewards. 

" Good-morrow, cousin." Benvolio greeted him 
cheerfully. 

" Is the day so young? " answered Romeo wearily. 

" But new struck nine," said Benvolio. 

" Ay me ! Sad hours seem long," sighed Romeo. 



ROMEO AND JULIET 41 

" What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours ? " in- 
quired Benvolio', in a sympathetic tone. 

" Not having that which, having, makes them 
short." 

''In love.f^ " inquired Benvolio, with a happy in- 
spiration. 

" Out " said Romeo. 

"Of love?" 

" Out of her favour where I am in love," sighed 
the lover. 

So this was the malady; and Benvolio, being at 
the moment free from it himself, felt he could bring 
consolation and perhaps cure to the sufferer. So 
he made Romeo recount to him all about his un- 
happy love. 

And Romeo told, with melancholy mien, how the 
lady he loved was fair beyond compare. She had 
also the wit and wisdom of Diana; but, like that fair 
goddess, refused to be hit with Cupid's arrow. 

" She will not stay the siege of loving terms. 
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, 
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: 
O, she is rich in beauty; only poor. 
That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.'* 

But he went on sadly: 

" She hath forsworn to love ; and in that vow 
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now." 

" Be ruled by me," said Benvolio ; " forget to think 
of her." 



42 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

This, declared Romeo, was absolutely impossible; 
and when Benvolio advised his casting his eyes on 
other fair maidens, Romeo replied that any compari- 
son but made him feel how much fairer was his love. 

Benvolio answered, laughing: 

" Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, 
One pain is lessened by another's anguish. 
Take thou some new infection to thy eye. 
And the rank poison of the old will die." 

Romeo little thought there was even a grain of 
truth in what his light-hearted friend said ; but Ben- 
volio had succeeded in so far rousino: him that he 
consented to go with him that very evening to a 
mask ball and supper at the house of Capulet. For 
there among the beauties of Verona he would behold 
his fair lady Rosaline. 

" Go thither ; and, with unattainted eje, 
Compare her face with some that I shall show, 
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow," 

said Benvolio', with a malicious twinkle in his eye. 

Romeo turned on him indignantly, for a man in 
love rarely retains a sense of humour: 

" One fairer than my love ! the all-seeing sun 
Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.* 

Benvolio laughed: 

" Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by. 
Herself poised with herself in either eye. 



ROMEO AND JULIET 43 

But in that crystal scales let there be weighed 
Your lady's love against some other maid, 
That I will show you, shining at this feast, 
And she shall scant show well that now seems best/' 

" I'll go along," answered Romeo ; " no such sight 
to be shown, but to rejoice in splendour of mine 
own." 

Being Montagues, neither Romeo nor Benvolio 
had ever before set foot in the house of the Capu- 
lets, nor, of course, had they ever been invited; but 
under cover of their masks they went to the ball 
that night. They were accompanied by Romeo's 
great friend Mercutio, a J^insman of the Prince of 
Verona, and one who dearly loved a spree. 

In the palace of old Capulet great preparations 
were going on, serving men and maids rushing hither 
and thither making ready for the dance, and pre- 
paring a great feast, for all Verona, with the excep- 
tion of the Montagues and their friends, were to be 
present. 

The Capulets had an only daughter, named Juliet ; 
all their hopes centred on her, and in their way they 
loved her truly. And Juliet was fair and sweet as 
the first breath of springtime, so that to love her 
was no hard matter. She was very young, and had 
never yet given a thought to such a thing as being 
wed. But when the rich and powerful young Count 
Paris came to old Capulet and asked his daughter's 
hand, though her father at first demurred, saying 
he would prefer Juliet should wait till she was two 



44 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

years older, he gave way at the young man's urg- 
ing. Lady Capulet also was in favour of an early 
marriage. She told JuKet she would that evening 
meet the one who was to be her bridegroom, and 
that she was a fortunate maid, for he was the very 
flower of manhood. 

" It is an honour that I dreamt not of," said Ju- 
liet, her breath quite taken away by the suddenness 
of this news. 

She had seen no more of life than the little bird 
who has just peeped over the top of the nest, and 
though she had had her dreams of the fairy Prince 
who would one day come to woo and win her, it was 
not in the least like this. 

Lady Capulet was for deciding the matter there 
and then ; she had no patience at all with the dreams 
of youth, having quite forgotten her own spring- 
time. 

" Speak briefly," she said to Juliet. " Can you 
like of Paris' love? " 

Juliet, knowing her parent far better than that 
parent knew her, answered dutifully: 

** I'll look to like^ if looking liking move ; 
But no more deep will I endart mine eye 
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly." 

An answer which satisfied her mother that she had 
brought her up well in spite of the spoiling of the 
old nurse, who, having lived with Juliet since she 
was a baby, adored and worshipped her. 

Romeo was in no mood for dancing. He declared 



ROMEO AND JULIET 45 

his soul to be of lead, which staked his feet to the 
ground so that he could not move. 

" You are in love," said his friend Mercutio ; " bor- 
row Cupid's wings and soar with them above a com- 
mon bound." 

But Romeo bade his friends go join in the dance 
while he looked on behind his mask. 

And presently, as he watched, he saw among the 
gay throng of dancers a young girl of such marvel- 
lous beauty and grace that from that moment his 
eyes could see no other. 

" She doth teach the torches to burn bright," ex- 
claimed Romeo, entranced. " So shows a snowy 
dove trooping with crows.^ 

Rosaline was as clean forgotten as last year's 
roses, and now took a place among the crows. " Did 
my heart love till now? " he cried to' himself. " For- 
swear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till 
to-night." 

He inquired of a serving-man: 

" What lady is that which doth enrich the hand 
of yonder knight ? " 

But the man did not know, for Capulet's young 
daughter had not before this made her appearance 
in society. 

At the sound of Romeo's voice, the fiery Tybalt, 
standing near, turned and regarded him suspic- 
iously. 

" Uncle, this is a Montague," he said to old Cap- 
ulet, " our foe ; a villain, that is hither come in spite, 
to scorn at our solemnity to-night." 



46 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" Young Romeo is it? " asked his uncle, surprised 
but not ill-pleased. 

" 'Tis he, that villain Romeo," answered Tybalt, 
his hand on his rapier. 

But old Capulet smiled indulgently. 

" Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone," he said 
to Tybalt. " He bears him hke a gentleman. . . . 
Verona brags of him to' be a virtuous and well-gov- 
erned youth. I would not for the wealth of all this 
town, here in my house, do him disparagement." 

But Tybalt ground his teeth with rage, and 
scowled angrily, at which his uncle added sternly: 

" It is my will, the which if thou respect, show a 
fair presence and put off these frowns, an ill-beseem- 
ing semblance for a feast." 

" It fits when such a villain is a guest ; I'll not 
endure him," muttered the volcanic Tybalt, inclined 
far more for fighting than dancing, 

" He shall be endured," cried old Capulet, his eye 
flashing angrily at Tybalt's insolence. " What, 
boy ! I say, he shall : go to ; am I the master here, 
or you ? You'll not endure him ! You'll make a 
mutiny among my guests ! You will set cock-a- 
hoop ! " 

" Why, uncle, 'tis a shame," persisted Tybalt. 

But he knew his uncle, and that he had gone far 
enough. So sheathing his sword he strode out of 
the hall, muttering vengeance on Romeo as he noted 
him standing by Juliet's side and speaking in low 
tones to her. Had he heard what Romeo was say- 
ing, Tybalt's sword would certainly have been quickly 



ROMEO AND JULIET 47 

unsheathed again, in spite of his uncle's command. 
For Romeo, taking JuHet's hand in his, was saying 
softly in her ear: 

** If I profane with my unworthiest hand 
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: 
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand 
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.'* 

To which Juliet replied with laughing eyes, and 
leaving her hand in his : 

" Good pilgrim, you. do wrong your hand too much, 
Which mannerly devotion shows in this; 
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, 
And palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss." 

"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?" 
asked Romeo, drawing nearer. 

" Ay, pilgrim," laughed Juliet softly, " lips that 
they must use in prayer." 

** O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do ; 
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair," 

sighed Romeo. 

" Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' 
sake," replied Juliet demurely. 

" Then move not," said Romeo, " while my 
prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by 
thine, my sin is purged." 

Out of reach of the torches' glare and her father's 
eye, Romeo stole his first kiss, and Juliet's heart with 
it. But Juliet's mother, noting she was no longer 



48 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

dancing, sent the old nurse in search, and just as 
things had arrived at this point between the pilgrim 
and his fair saint, a voice awakened Juliet out of 
love's young dream with a start: 

" Madam, your mother craves a word with you." 
And Juliet fled to obey the summons. 

Romeo turned, none too well pleased, to the old 
nurse, and asked: 

"What is her mother.? " 

" Marry, bachelor," she answered, always ready 
for a gossip, " her mother is the lady of the house, 
and a good lady, and a wise and virtuous ; I nursed 
her daughter, that you talk'd withal." Then she 
added slyly : " I tell you, he that can lay hold of her, 
shall have the chinks." 

Romeo ignored this last remark; it is doubtful if 
he ever heard it, so overcome was he at learning that 
this lovely damsel, who had taken his heart captive 
at first sight, was a Capulet. 

" O dear account ! My life is my foe's debt," he 
cried. But the thing was done, and there could be 
no undoing of it now, had he learnt she was the 
daughter of Beelzebub. 

Benvolio came up and hurried him away, for it 
was late, and the guests were bidding good-night to 
their hosts. There was no chance of Juliet's return. 
She, meanwhile, was watching her masked pilgrim 
from a distance. Seeing him about to' leave the hall, 
she called to her nurse and bade her find out who he 
was. " For," said she, " if he be married, my grave 
is like to be my wedding bed." 



ROMEO AND JULIET 49 

The old nurse had already found out all about the 
masked gentleman, whom she, with her sharp old 
eyes, had seen kissing her young lady. And she an- 
swered, after pretending at first that she could not 
imagine which gentleman Juliet meant : 

" His name is Romeo, and a Montague, the only 
son of your great enemy." 

" My only love sprung from my only hate ! 
Too early seen and known too late," 

cried JuKet ; for, of course, as a daughter of the 
House of Capulet she had been brought up to loathe 
the very name of Montague. 

But even as with Romeo, what was done could never 
be undone, and whereas through Romeo's eyes love 
had entered, it was through Juliet's ears the little 
winged god had shot his arrow, and the voice of 
Romeo was now the only one in the world for her. 



CHAPTER n 

Though Romeo left the house of Capulet with 
his two friends, Benvolio and Mercutio, he was 
in no mood for their gay company, and soon gave 
them the slip. Like a needle turning to the magnet, 
he turned his steps back to the dwelling of his love. 
Climbing the wall of the orchard, he jumped down 
into the garden. His friends following in pursuit, 
and seeing no sign of him, Mercutio concluded he 



50 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

had wisely gone home to bed ; but Benvolio knew him 
better, and guessed at the truth. 

" He ran this way," he said, " and leap'd this or- 
chard wall." 

Then Mercutio called out, laughing: 

*' Romeo ! humours ! madman ! passion ! lover ! 
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh; 
Speak but one rhyme and I am satisfied; 
Cry but ' Ay me ! ' pronounce but ' love ' and ' dove.' '* 

They listened, but Romeo never stirred on the 
other side of the wall. 

" He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not," 
said Mercutio. 

" I conjure thee," he went on mockingly, " by 
Rosaline's bright eyes. By her high forehead and 
her scarlet lip, that in thy likeness thou appear to 
us." 

" If he hear thee, thou wilt anger him," remarked 
Benvolio. " Come ! he hath hidden himself among 
these trees . . . 'tis in vain to seek him here, that 
means not to be found." 

" Romeo, good-night," called Mercutio. " I'll to 
my truckle-bed; this field-bed is too cold for me to 
sleep." 

Gladly Romeo heard them depart, singing and 
laughing down the road. 

" He jests at scars that never felt a wound," he 
said to himself, and softly under the shady trees he 
moved towards the house. A light shone from an 
upper window, and presently the window opened and 



ROMEO AND JULIET 51 

a white-robed figure stepped out on to the balcony. 

" It is my lady ; O, it is my love," cried Romeo 
under his breath. " O, that she knew she were ! " 

Enraptured, he gazed up at Juliet, as she, quite 
unconscious of his nearness, gazed in her turn at the 
starlit sky, and thought of that young Montague, 
with a tender voice, who had kissed her lips and 
stolen her heart. A Montague, she thought sadly, 
and leaned her cheek upon her hand. 

" O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I 
might touch that cheek," said Romeo. 

" Ay me ! " sighed Juliet. 

" She speaks," whispered Romeo, creeping nearer, 
but still in shadow. 

" O, speak again, bright angel ! " 

And Juliet continued to herself: 

" O Romeo, Romeo ! Wherefore art thou Romeo ? 
Deny thy father and refuse thy name ; or if thou wilt 
not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a 
Capulet." 

" Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this ? " said 
Romeo, beside himself with joy. 

Juliet went on in soft, low tones, more sweet than 
any nightingale to Romeo's ears : 

" 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy. ... 0, 
be some other name! What's in a name? That 
which we call a rose, by any other name would smell 
as sweet ; so Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, 
retain that dear perfection which he owes without 
that title. Romeo, doff thy name, and for thy name, 
which is no part of thee, take all myself." 



5a SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" I take thee at thy word," cried Romeo, springing 
forward and standing beneath her balcony. " Call 
me but love, and I'll be new baptized ; henceforth I 
never will be Romeo." 

" What man art thou that, thus bescreen'd in 
night, so stumblest on my counsel .^^ " asked Juliet; 
but though she was startled, there was no fear in her 
voice. 

Romeo answered: 

" My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, be- 
cause it is an enemy to thee." 

She had no doubt now, even had she been uncer- 
tain at first. He had called her " dear saint," as in 
the ball-room. 

Leaning over the balcony, Juliet answered: 

" My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words of 
thy tongue's uttering, yet I know the sound. Art 
thou not Romeo, and a Montague? " 

" Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike," said 
Romeo eagerly. 

" How camest thou hither, tell me, and where- 
fore.? " asked Juliet. " The orchard walls are high 
and hard to climb, and the place death, considering 
who thou art, if any of my kinsmen find thee here." 
She looked round fearfully. 

But Romeo answered gaily: 

" With love's wings did I o'erperch these walls. 
For stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love 
can do that dares love attempt ; therefore thy kins- 
men are no let to me." 



ROMEO AND JULIET 53 

" If they do see thee, they will murder thee." Ju- 
liet shuddered with fear for him. 

" Alack ! " replied Romeo, " there lies more peril 
in thine eye than twenty of their swords. Look thou 
but sweet, and I am proof against their enmity." 

" I would not for the world they saw thee here," 
said Juliet, still thinking only of Romeo's safety. 

" I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes." 
Romeo tried to reassure her. " But," he added, 
" and thou love me, let them find me here. My life 
were better ended by their hate than death prorogued 
wanting of thy love." 

Then Juliet, remembering how Romeo had over- 
heard when she had confessed her love aloud to the 
starlit night, felt suddenly shy, and blushed all rosy 
red. She would fain have unsaid those words of 
love, fain deny what she had spoken, but it was no 
use, since Romeo had heard all. She feared lest he 
should think she was too quickly won ; she feared he 
might think hers but a light love, inspired by the 
moonlight night. Yet she knew this love, though 
sudden, was so strong and true it could never die. 

Romeo, too, felt that his sudden love for Juliet 
was something quite different to his love for Rosaline 
or any other fair lady. He began to swear his 
eternal love and fealty by the silver moon overhead, 
but Juliet bade him swear not by the moon, the 
inconstant moon, lest his love prove likewise variable. 

" What shall I swear by? " cried Romeo. 

" Do not swear at all," said Juliet. " Although 



54 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night; 
it is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden, too hke the 
lightning wliich doth cease to be ere one can say * It 
lightens.' " 

She feared always for his safety. Suppose they 
were discovered! The mere thought made her heart 
stand still. She must send him away, though she 
longed for him to stay. Leaning over the balcony, 
she bade him go. 

" Sweet, good-night ! This bud of love, by sum- 
mer's ripening breath, may prove a beauteous flower 
when next we meet. Good-night, good-night ! As 
sweet repose and rest come to thy heart as that within 
my breast." 

Romeo stretched up his hands to her imploring. 

'' O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? " 

*' What satisfaction canst thou have to-night ? " 
asked Juliet. 

" The exchang'e of thy love's faithful vow for 
mine," he replied. 

" I gave thee mine before thou didst request it." 
She sighed and smiled. " And yet I would it were 
to give again." 

" Would thou withdraw it.? " said Romeo. " For 
what purpose, love ? " 

" To be frank," she answered, " and give it thee 
again. . . . My bounty is as boundless as the sea, 
my love as deep ; the more I give to thee, the more I 
have, for both are infinite. . . ." She paused and 
listened. There was someone moving in the bed- 
room, and presently the old nurse called. 



ROMEO AND JULIET 55 

" Anon, good nurse," said Juliet. Then, in a hur- 
ried whisper to Romeo : " Dear love, adieu. Sweet 
Montague, be true." 

She went within, leaving Romeo all dazed with 
joy, fearful lest he should wake and find it a dream. 
He stood there watching her window, and presently 
Juliet reappeared, like a white lily in the moonlight, 
and hurriedly v/hispered that if his love were honour- 
able she would send a trusted messenger to him on 
the morrow, by whom he should send back word 
where and when they could be married, and she would 
lay her fortune and herself at his feet, and follow 
him throughout the world. 

" Madam ! madam ! " called the old nurse from 
within. 

" I come anon," called Juliet. 

But yet they could not part; there was so much 
still to be said and to be arranged for the morrow. 
Even after again saying good-night, Juliet came 
back just to see if Romeo was still there. Of course 
he was, gazing at where his love had been, and slowly, 
very slowly, going away beneath the trees. 

"Romeo!" 

He was back again. 

" It is my soul that calls upon my name," he cried 
joyfully. " How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues 
by night, like softest music to attending ears." 

But it was almost morning, and they had to part 
at last, though, as Juliet said, " Parting was such 
sweet sorrow, that she could say good-night till it 
was morrow." 



56 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

On leaving the Capulets' garden, Romeo made his 
way to a monastery on the hill outside Verona. 
Here dwelt the good old Friar Lawrence, the father 
confessor of many young men and maidens in all 
the country round. For he was a learned monk, 
wise not only in remedies for the body with his herbs 
and simples, but equally wise in counsel concerning 
matters of the heart. 

The sun had not yet risen, though the grey-eyed 
morn was making ready for him with streaks of light. 
Friar Lawrence was already up, and setting out with 
a big basket to collect roots and precious herbs for 
his medicines, when Romeo knocked at his cell door. 

" Good-morrow, father," said he. 

'' Benedicite ! " answered the friar. " What early 
tongue so sweet saluteth me? 

" Young son it argues a distempered head^ 
So soon to bid good-morrow to thy bed." 

Romeo had confessed to him all about his unhappy 
love for Rosaline, and the good friar thought it was 
probably due to his forlorn condition that Romeo 
was so early abroad, or perhaps had not been to bed 
that night. 

Great was the good friar's astonishment at hearing 
Romeo's story ; how his heart's dear love was set on 
the fair daughter of Capulet, the enemy of his house. 

" When and where and how we met, we woo'd 
and made exchange of vow," said Romeo ; " I'll tell 
thee as we pass ; but this I pray, that thou consent 
to marry us to-day." 



ROMEO AND JULIET 57 

" Holy Saint Francis ! what a change is here ! " 
exclaimed Father Lawrence. " Is Rosaline, that 
thou didst love so dear, so soon forgotten? Young 
men's love, then, lies not truly in their hearts, but in 
their eyes." 

Romeo did not wish to be reminded of Rosaline. 
There had been no joy in that love, naught save 
pain and bitterness. But Juliet gave love for love, 
and brought only joy and delight to her lover's heart. 
This he explained to his father confessor, and the 
old man promised to give his help, for he saw in the 
young people's love for each other a hope that the 
feud between the two families might at last be hap- 
pily ended. He agreed, in fact, to marry them, as 
Romeo begged, that very afternoon, and bestow upon 
them the blessing of holy Church. 

Very early that morning Juliet sent her old nurse, 
the trusty messenger, as arranged, to seek out 
Romeo. Impatiently she awaited the nurse's return. 
The day was hot, and the messenger stout and slow 
of pace. Juliet had allowed her half an hour, but 
it was three long hours before she returned. Juliet 
flew to meet her. 

" O honey nurse," she cried, " what news ? " 

" I am a-weary ; give me leave awhile," said the 
old nurse, fanning herself and sitting down heavily. 
"Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt I have 
hadl" 

" I would thou hadst my bones and I thy news," 
said Juliet. " Nay, come, I pray thee speak ; good, 
good nurse, speak." 



58 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

But though she coaxed and kissed her, the old 
nurse was bent on tormenting and teasing her young 
lady by keeping back her news, till Juliet was well- 
nigh frantic. Then at last she said: 

" Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day ? " 
And on Juliet saying she had, the nurse bade her: 
*' Hie hence to Friar Lawrence's cell. There 
stays a husband to make you a wife. ... I must 
another way to fetch a ladder," she went on with a 
weary groan, " by the which your love must climb 
a bird's nest soon when it is dark. I am the drudge 
and toil in your delight." 

But Juliet had heard enough to make her sing 
for joy. Without waiting for more, she was off, 
swift and light of foot as Ariel, to the good friar's 
cell. There she found Romeo already awaiting her, 
and there the good old friar made, as he saidj " short 
work," and married the happy young pair. 



CHAPTER in 

The quarrelsome Tybalt had not forgotten his 
vow to be avenged on Romeo for coming masked 
to Capulet's ball. While Romeo and Juliet were 
being secretly married by Father Lawrence, he was 
prowling all about the city in search of any of the 
House of Montague with whom he might pick a quar- 
rel. Coming at length upon Mercutio and Benvolio 
in one of the public places, he accosted them in his 
most insolent tone. 



ROMEO AND JULIET 69 

Mercutio was the one he specially signalled out as 
being the most quick-tempered of the two. Ben- 
volio would gladly have retired; brawling was not 
to his taste, and the day was still very hot. But 
Tybalt meant mischief. Before, however, he had 
been able to make an excuse for drawing his sword 
on Mercutio, Romeo himself came in sight. Where- 
upon Tybalt strode up to him, calling him a villain. 

At any other time Romeo would have felt bound 
in honour to accept this as a challenge; but his 
marriage with Juliet made him look with new feel- 
ings on his old enemies ; they were his kin now, and 
he would gladly show them love instead of hate. 
Since it was not possible to offer friendship to the 
fiery, fierce Tybalt, Romeo, with quiet dignity, re- 
plied : 

" I see thou knowest me not — villain am I none ; 
therefore, farewell ; " and he turned on his heel. 

But this did not suit Tybalt, who shouted after 
him to " turn and draw," and so satisfy him for the 
injuries Romeo had done him. Romeo protested he 
had never injured Tybalt, and, on the contrary, had 
reason for feeling friendship for him. 

This soft answer, far from turning away wrath, 
stirred it up, not only in Tybalt, but Mercutio, who 
cried out furiously: 

" O calm, dishonourable, vile submission ! . • . 
Tybalt, you rat catcher." He drew out his sword. 

Tybalt turned on him: 

" I am for you," he cried hotly, drawing his sword. 

Romeo interposed: 



60 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" Good Mercutio, put thy rapier up," he begged. 
But in vain. They rushed on one another furiously. 

Both Benvolio and Romeo strove to beat down 
their weapons and part them, Romeo reminding them 
of the Prince's order forbidding duelling in the street. 
His words fell on deaf ears, and as Romeo threw him- 
self between them, Tybalt made a lunge under his arm 
and stabbed Mercutio, mortally wounding him. 

Seeing Mercutio fall, Tybalt made off with his 
followers. 

" I am hurt," groaned poor Mercutio, " A plague 
on both your houses ! I am sped ! ... Is he gone 
and hath nothing .f* " he asked, looking round for his 
enemy. 

Romeo bent over him anxiously, while one of the 
pages ran for a surgeon. 

" Courage, man ; the hurt cannot be much," said 
Romeo, trying to hope his friend was not really 
dying — this friend so full of life and spirits but a 
few minutes before. But Mercutio smiled sadly as he 
gasped out: 

" No, 'tis not so deep as a well nor so wide as a 
church door, but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. I am pep- 
pered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o' both 
your houses. Zounds ! a dog, a rat, a cat, to scratch 
a man to death. A braggart, a rogue, a villain! I 
was hurt under your arm," he said faintly. 

" I thought all for the best," answered Romeo, 
heartbroken, as he saw the life-blood flowing from 
Mercutio's wound. 

They bore him into a neighbouring house, but 



ROMEO AND JULIET 61 

brave Mercutio's spirit had fled before the surgeon 
could arrive. 

Meanwliile, Tybalt, not content with having slain 
Mercutio, turned back, remembering that Romeo was 
still at large. At the sight of him alive and tri- 
umphant, Romeo blazed into fury. 

" Now, Tybalt," he shouted, drawing on him, 
" take the villain back again that late thou gavest 
me ; for Mercutio's soul is but a little way above our 
heads, staying for thine to keep him company : either 
thou or I, or both, must go with him." 

They fought desperately, each resolved that noth- 
ing but death should stop them. Tybalt the bully 
and braggart was the one to fall this time. Romeo 
scarcely could believe what had happened till he 
heard Benvolio urging him to fly. 

" Away, begone ! " he cried, " the Prince will doom 
thee to death if thou art taken : hence begone, away." 

Romeo, seeing a crowd of noisy citizens coming 
up to join in the fray, took Benvolio's advice and 
escaped to Father Lawrence's cell, while his friend 
remained to explain how Tybalt had met his death. 

Presently the Prince himself came on the scene, 
having just heard of the death of his kinsman Mer- 
cutio. He was soon joined by the chiefs of the 
houses both of Montague and Capulet, and their 
ladies and others all hurrying up, the news sped 
round the town. 

" Where are the vile beginners of this blood fray.? " 
demanded the Prince, as he looked on the dead body 
of Tybalt. 



62 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Then Benvolio told the true facts of the unhappy 
brawl, and how Romeo had in vain tried to prevent 
it. 

But Lady Capulet, grieving for the death of her 
nephew Tybalt, cried indignantly that Benvolio 
being kinsman to Romeo, affection made him false, 
and entreated the Prince that Tybalt, having been 
slain by Romeo, in his turn Romeo should die. 

The Prince answered, Tybalt had slain Mercutio, 
his Kfe was therefore due ; but inasmuch as Romeo 
had taken Tybalt's life, he must be banished, exiled 
from home and country, while all those partaking 
in the brawl should be fined so heavily they should 
have cause to repent this time. 

After parting with Romeo in Friar Lawrence's 
cell, Juliet returned home, and presently sent out 
her faithful nurse to fetch the ladder of cords Romeo 
told her he had in readiness, by which he would climb 
that night to her balcony. 

When the nurse returned she flung down the cords 
and commenced wringing her hands and weeping. 

" Ay me ! Why dost thou wring thy hands ? " 
Juliet asked anxiously. 

" Ah well-a-day ! he's dead ! he's dead ! Alack the 
day, lady, he's killed ! " groaned the nurse. 

Poor Juliet, thinking she meant that Romeo was 
killed, was quite distracted with grief. 

" Oh, break, my heart," she cried, flinging herself 
down, and calling on death to take her too. 

Then the old nurse went on: 



ROMEO AND JULIET 63 

*' O Tybalt^ Tybalt, the best friend I had, 
O courteous Tybalt_, honest gentleman, 
That ever I should live to see thee dead." 

Juliet paused in her weeping to ask, bewildered: 

" Is Romeo slaughtered and is Tybalt dead, my 
dearly loved cousin and my dearer lord. . . . Who 
is living if these two are gone? " 

" Tybalt is slain and Romeo banished — Romeo 
that killed him," said the nurse, gloating in the im- 
portance of her tragic news. 

At first Juliet was horrified to think that Romeo's 
hand could have dealt so cruel a blow to one who was 
her kinsman. She did not. know how richly Tybalt 
deserved his fate; for the old nurse, being as strong 
a partisan as Lady Capulet herself, said nothing of 
the death of Mercutio. She felt bitter disappoint- 
ment that Romeo, who seemed so fair and honour- 
able, could be guilty of such a deed; but presently 
Tybalt was forgotten, and she could think only of 
that awful word " banished." Romeo was banished ! 

" To speak that word is father, mother, Tybalt, 
Romeo, Juliet, all slain, all dead ! " she cried in her 
despair. " There is no end, no limit, measure, 
bound, in that word's death; no word can that woe 
sound." 

Then the old nurse, seeing her so woeful, tried to 
console her, and promised to go and find Romeo and 
bring him to comfort her, and at least take a last 
farewell. 

Romeo arrived at Father Lawrence's cell in deepest 



64 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

gloom. The last man in the world he desired to have 
slain was one of the House of Capulet, yet this deed 
had been forced upon him by Tybalt himself. The 
good old friar went forth in search of news, bidding 
Romeo remain in hiding. He soon returned, for all 
the town was talking of the affair, and brought the 
news of the Prince's decree. To be banished seemed 
at first to Romeo worse than death; for banishment 
from Verona's walls meant separation from Juliet 
his love, and without her life was " purgatory, tor- 
ture, hell itself," he cried. 

But the wise old friar pointed out that this was 
a most foolish and unthankful spirit. He had really 
" a pack of blessings lighting on his back," if he 
would but open his eyes to see them. Juliet was 
alive, loved him, and was his wife. Tybalt was slain, 
who would otherwise have slain him; the law that 
threatened death had become his friend by turning 
it to exile. If he would but have patience, said Friar 
Lawrence, all might end well. 

While they spoke together there was a knocking 
at the door of the cell, and on opening cautiously, 
Friar Lawrence found it to be Juhet's old nurse come 
to bid Romeo hasten to his true-love. There was 
no time to lose, for the Prince must be obeyed or 
death by to-morrow would be the forfeit if Romeo 
were found still at Verona. 

" Go, get thee to thy love," said the friar, " as 
was decreed ; ascend her chamber, hence and comfort 
her ; but look thou stay not till the watch be set, for 
then thou canst not pass to Mantua, where thou 



ROMEO AND JULIET 65 

shalt live till we can find a time to blaze your mar- 
riage, reconcile your friends, beg pardon of the 
Prince, and call thee back with twenty thousand 
times more joy than thou wentest forth in lamen- 
tation." 

Then he turned to the nurse and bade her go be- 
fore and tell her young lady so soon as all the house- 
hold slept, Romeo was coming. 

" Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night 
to hear good counsel. O what learning is ! " said the 
old nurse piously as she hurried back to her mistress, 
rejoicing in the good hope held out by the friar 
that all might yet end well. 

Romeo also was greatly comforted by the wise 
advice of Friar Lawrence. Before leaving him he 
promised to go ere sunrise to Mantua, and there to 
remain for the present, sending his servant Balthasar 
from time to time for news with which the good friar 
would keep him supplied. 

That night Romeo mounted to Juliet's chamber by 
the ladder of cords. He stayed till the nightingale 
ceased his song on the pomegranate-tree and the lark 
arose to herald the dawn. Then sorrowfully the 
lovers had to part. The old nurse came to warn 
them that Juliet's mother was calling for her; and 
she and Romeo took one last farewell, vowing to be 
true till death. 

Juliet's tears were flowing when her mother en- 
tered. Lady Capulet thought she wept for the death 
of her cousin Tybalt. She did not approve of too 
much grief, vengeance being more in her thoughts. 



66 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" Wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears ? " 
she asked with irritation. " Some grief shows much 
of love, but much of grief shows still some want of 
wit." 

Juliet did not explain for whose loss she wept, 
but answered sadly, she was not well, and, feeling the 
loss, could not choose but weep the friend slain. 

" Well, girl, thou weepest not so much for his 
death as that the villain lives which slaughter'd him," 
said her mother. 

"What villain, madam .^^ " asked Juliet, never 
thinking that Romeo could be so styled. 

" That same villain, Romeo," answered Lady Cap- 
ulet fiercely. 

Then Juliet realized that she must act a part, and 
so she pretended to hate and loathe Romeo her true- 
love, which gave her mother such satisfaction that 
she went on to tell her what she called joyful tidings 
to cheer her up. 

This same joyful tidings proved to be the woe- 
fullest poor Juliet could possibly have heard. It 
was that her father had consented to give her in 
marriage to the gallant young Count Paris, a most 
desirable suitor, who sought her hand. The wed- 
ding, they had decided, should take place in a few 
days with pomp and ceremony, and at St, Peter's 
Church Juliet should be made a joyful bride. 

" Now, by St. Peter's Church and Peter too," cried 
Juliet passionately, " he shall not make me there a 
joj^ful bride. I wonder at this haste," she went on 
desperately, trying to think of some excuse without 



ROMEO AND JULIET 67 

revealing that she was already made a joyful bride, 
" that I must wed ere he that should be husband 
comes to woo. I pray you tell my lord and father, 
madam," she besought her mother, " I will not marry 
yet." Seeing, however, no relenting in Lady Cap- 
ulet's face, she added with determination : " And when 
I do, I swear, it shall be Romeo, whom you know I 
hate, rather than Paris." 

" Tell him so yourself," said her mother grimly, 
" and see how he will take it at your hands." 

But Juliet found her father even harder to deal 
with than her mother. Usually he was only too 
willing to pet and spoil his ^only child, but at the 
mere idea of her daring to oppose his will he blazed 
up into a fury. 

" How, doth she not give us thanks ? Is she not 
proud? " he stormed. " Doth she not count her blest, 
unworthy as she is, that we have wrought so worthy 
a gentleman to be her bridegroom? " 

Juliet, though inwardly trembling, presented a 
courageous front, remembering her Romeo. 

" Not proud," she answered ; " proud I can never 
be of what I hate, but thankful even for hate that is 
meant love." By which she meant that she declined 
the honour with grateful thanks. 

Old Capulet swore roundly. 

" Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no 
prouds, mistress minion you, but prepare to go with 
Paris to St. Peter's Church against Thursday next, 
or I will drag thee thither on a hurdle. Out, you 
baggage — you tallow-face ! " 



68 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Juliet knelt with clasped hands before him: 

" Good father, I beseech you on my knees, hear 
me with patience but to speak a word." 

But the Lord Capulet, having worked himself into 
a rage, was not going to listen to a word. 

*' Hang thee, young baggage — disobedient 
wretch ! " he stormed loudly. " Get thee to church 
o' Thursday or never after look me in the face." 

The fat old nurse, looking on at this scene, shook 
like a jelly, but summoned all her courage at last to 
defend her precious child. 

'^ God in heaven bless her ! " she interposed. 
" You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so." 

He turned his batteries on her, as she knew he 
would. 

"And why, my lady wisdom .^^ Hold your 
tongue ! " he thundered ; '' go, smatter with your gos- 
sips. Go ! " 

Even Lady Capulet, seeing Juliet's fair young 
face all bedewed with tears and white with fear, told 
her angry lord he was " too hot.'^ 

But this remark did not serve to cool him. He 
bade his daughter: 

" An you will not wed, I'll not pardon you. Graze 
where you will, you shall not house with me. Look 
to't, think on't, I do not use to jest. . • . An you 
be mine, I'll give you to my friend; an you be not, 
hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, for by my soul, 
I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, nor what is mine shall 
never do thee good." 

So saying, the wrathful parent turned on his heel, 



ROMEO AND JULIET 69 

feeling very righteous, very wrathful, and very miser- 
able, for, after all, his little daughter was the person 
he loved best in all the world; but, of course, par- 
ental authority had to be upheld, and if he did not 
know best what was for his child's good, who did? 

Juliet turned her piteous face to her mother. 

*' O, sweet my mother, cast me not away," she 
begged. " Delay this marriage a month — a week ; 
or if you do not, make the bridal bed in that dim 
monument where Tybalt Kes." 

But Lady Capulet showed as stony a front as her 
lord. 

" Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word," she 
said, turning away. " Do as thou wilt, for I have 
done with thee." 

Left alone with the old nurse, Juliet turned to her 
for comfort and advice in this dilemma. 

The old nurse, feeling the case of Romeo to be 
now a hopeless one, advised her young mistress to 
make the best of things, and obey her parents. 

" Romeo is banished, and dare not come back to 
challenge you, or if he do, it .needs must be by 
stealth," she said. " Then, since the case so stands 
as now it doth, I think it best you married with the 
County. 0, he's a lovely gentleman ! Romeo's a 
dish-clout to him. ... I think you are happy in 
this second match, for it excels your first; or if it 
did not, your first is dead, or 'twere as good he were 
as living here, and you no use of him." 

Juliet regarded her coldly. 

" Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much," 



70 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

she said. " Go in, and tell my mother I am gone, 
having displeased my father, to Friar Lawrence to 
make confession, and to be absolved." 

The old nurse toddled off gladly, believing her ad- 
vice had been taken. 

So all had forsaken her ; not even her old nurse 
would help her, for her advice proved her most false 
and treacherous to Romeo. Friar Lawrence alone 
remained; would he also fail her, poor Juhet 
wondered. 

When she arrived at the good friar's cell, who 
should she find already there but the Count Paris. 
He saw her coming, so it w^as useless to try and 
escape. With happy smile he came forward to greet 
her as his bride, nothing doubting, 

" Happily met," said he, " my lady and my wife ! " 

" That may be when I may be a wife," answered 
Juliet, with a low curtsey. 

" That may be must be, love, on Thursday next," 
said the gallant Paris. 

" What must be shall be," replied Juliet. And 
Paris made sure, innocent man, that this sweet, shy 
maiden meant to become his bride on Thursday. 

Then Friar Lawrence, who had just learned from 
Paris of his approaching marriage and the new 
trouble threatening Juhet, bade Paris leave them 
alone that this daughter might make her confession 
to him. 

Directly he had shut the door Juliet poured out 
her grief to the good old friar — " Grief," she said, 
" past hope, past help, past cure." 



ROMEO AND JULIET 71 

" Ah, Juliet," said Friar Lawrence, " I already 
know thy grief ; " and then he set his fine old wits to 
work out a way of escape. But he warned her it 
was a difficult way, and required much courage — as 
much as to lay down her life, in fact. 

Juliet answered that sooner than marry Paris and 
prove false to her true-love Romeo, she would gladly 
and without a tremble leap from off the battlements, 
or be chained with devouring bears. 

Friar Lawrence, seeing by her steadfast young 
face that this was no empty vow, then revealed to 
her his plan. 

" Hold, then," he said ; " go home, be merry, give 
consent to marry Paris. To-morrow night look that 
thou lie alone in thy chamber; let not thy nurse be 
with thee. Being then in bed, take thou this vial, 
and this distilled liquor drink thou off." 

He produced a small bottle containing a secret 
preparation he had made from rare herbs. This 
liquid, he went on to tell her, would, directly she had 
drunk it, make her feel drowsy and cold, and give 
her a sleep so profound that nothing could wake her 
for forty-two hours. She would, in fact, appear to 
be dead, for her pulse would cease, the colour in her 
lips and cheeks would fade, and no warmth or breath 
would testify she lived. In the morning they would 
find her there, and instead of a wedding she would 
have a funeral, and be carried to the ancient vault 
where all the Capulets were buried. Meanwhile, 
Friar Lawrence promised to send at once to Romeo 
and tell him of the plan, and how he must come that 



72 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

same night to watch when his bride should wake and 
take her off to Mantua. This was the way of escape 
if Juhet had the courage to play her part. 

Juliet's sorrow was turned to joy. 

" Give me, give me ! " she cried, holding out her 
hand for the precious little vial. " 0, tell me not 
of fear ! " 

Father Lawrence smiled as he gave her the liquid 
and his parting blessing. He knew Juliet's strong 
young soul would not fail. He loved strong souls, 
knowing that " courage is the mother of all the vir- 
tues." 

" Love give me strength, and strength shall help 
afford. Farewell, dear father," said Juliet, and sped 
home light of foot and heart. 

Greatly did old Capulet rejoice to find his daugh- 
ter in such a changed mood, and greatly he blessed 
the holy friar who had wrought the change. He was 
so afraid, however, that Juliet's docile state of mind 
might not last, that he declared he would have the 
wedding the very next day. 

Lady Capulet objected to this haste, saying the 
wedding feast could not be prepared in time. 

"Tush!" said old Capulet; "I will stir about, 
and all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife." 

Juliet made no objection; she was ready to do 
anything her father wished — a model child indeed ! 

Old Capulet took things in his own hands, and 
packed his wife off to see about decking the bride. 

" I'll play the housewife for once," he said, " I'll 
not to bed to-night." 



ROMEO AND JULIET 73 

Like all men playing the housewife, he overdid the 
part; he fussed and interfered, and drove everybody 
wellnigh demented. Among other things he sent out 
and hired twenty " cunning cooks " to assist their 
own cook in preparing the wedding feast. 

Lady Capulet gave him a free hand, but when he 
went off, leaving his housewife duties, to " rouse up 
the County Paris," she stepped into her own place 
and tried to bring things into order. The twenty 
cooks were calling for spices and dates and quinces ; 
all was in confusion. The cook Angelica, in spite 
of her twenty assistants, had refused to go to bed 
that night, insisting that she only could see to the 
baked meats. 

Juliet, on retiring for the night, made an excuse 
to be alone, and bade both her mother and nurse 
good-night. 

As soon as they left the room she took out the 
small vial Father Lawrence had given her. Not- 
withstanding her brave heart, a great fear and lone- 
liness came over poor Juliet. For a moment she felt 
inclined to call them back to comfort her. Then she 
realized they could give her no help, only the little 
vial could make a way of escape. But what if it, 
too, failed, and did not work at all; should she then 
have to marry Paris? 

Juliet took from out a drawer a small dagger and 
placed it near her pillow. " This shall forbid it," 
she said to herself. " Lie thou there." 

But what if the vial contain poison, which the friar 
had given her, lest he should get into trouble for 



74 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

having married her to Romeo ? But no ; she dis- 
missed this thought as unworthy distrust of the good 
old man. Terrible fear next assailed her lest she 
should wake too soon and be stifled in the vault be- 
fore Romeo could reach her, or die of fright, finding 
herself among all those dead ancestors and their 
ghosts. 

Then the love that she bore for Romeo came, like 
the strong, warm sun, and chased all these black 
shadows from her heart. She put the vial to her 
lips, and crying, " Romeo, I come ! This do I drink 
to thee," she fell down on her bed and lost all con- 
sciousness. 

At early dawn the County Paris arrived with his 
musicians, playing glad marriage music beneath 
Juliet's balcony. The old nurse was sent up to bid 
the bride make haste and come down to receive her 
bridegroom. 

She entered the darkened bedroom and flung wide 
the shutters, crying: 

" Mistress ! what. Mistress Juliet ! Why, lamb ! 
why, lady ! fie, you slug-a-bed ! " 

Juliet never stirred. 

" Why, love, I say 1 Madam ! Sweetheart ! 
Why, bride ! Marry, how sound is she asleep ; I 
needs must wake her ! " 

She went up to the bed and drew the curtains. 
There lay Juliet, dressed in the clothes she had worn 
the evening before. 

" What, dress'd and in your clothes ! " cried the 
old woman in surprise. She shook her by the 



ROMEO AND JULIET 75 

shoulder, saying again : " I needs must wake 
you ! " 

Then she saw Juliet's face. It was still and white 
as marble, and cold as in death. 

" Lady ! lady ! lady ! " screamed the nurse in ter- 
ror. " Alas ! alas ! Help ! help ! my lady's dead ! 
O well-a-day, that ever I was born ! My lord ! My 
lady ! " 

She ran to the door. 

Lady Capulet came hurrying at the cry. She 
rushed to the still form on the bed. Her heart- 
broken cries soon brought Juliet's father to the room. 
He felt her pulse; he listened for a heart-beat; no, 
there was not a sign of life. She was already stiff 
and cold, as though for many hours the spirit had 
left the body. 

" Death lies on her like an untimely frost upon 
the sweetest flower of all the field," said the old man, 
feeling the light had gone out of his life for ever. 
Sorrow choked his words, he could speak no more. 

The news that the bride was dead went like wild- 
fire through the house. The bridegroom rushed up- 
stairs, hardly believing such woeful tidings could be 
true. 

Closely following him came Friar Lawrence. He 
was to have performed the marriage ceremony, but 
now it would have to be a funeral service instead. 
He stilled the woeful lamentations of the parents and 
the bridegroom, who railed on death and curst the 
day that had robbed them of their Juliet. 

" Peace, ho, for shame ! " he said to old Capulet. 



76 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" Heaven and yourself had part in this fair maid ; 
now heaven hath all, and all the better is it for the 
maid. Your part in her you could not keep from 
death ; but heaven keeps his part in eternal life. The 
most you sought was her promotion ; for 'twas your 
heaven she should be advanced: and weep ye now, 
seeing she is advanced above the clouds, as high as 
heaven itself? O, in this love, you love your child 
so ill, that you run mad, seeing that she is well." 

Juhet's parents felt the friar spoke the truth, but 
still could not forbear to weep for their own loss. 
This sweet Juliet was their only child, and they 
could not but remember that they had considered 
more their own wishes than her happiness. The 
County Paris, too, was bitterly disappointed at hav- 
ing a funeral instead of a wedding. He loved Juliet 
in his fashion ; it had never struck his simple mind to 
inquire whether she on her side loved him ; he no 
doubt thought no maiden of good taste could avoid 
doing so. 

Decked in her bridal array, and her bier covered 
with flowers, Juliet was borne first to the church, and, 
after the funeral service, to the tomb of the Capulets 
outside the city walls. 

She slept, as the friar had promised, all through 
this time, without a sign of Hfe. Meanwhile, Friar 
Lawrence had sent a messenger. Friar John, with 
all haste to Mantua, bearing a letter for Romeo, tell- 
ing him of all that had taken place, and bidding him 
come at once to Capulets' tomb to fetch Juliet. Un- 
fortunately, Friar John, having visited a house on 



ROMEO AND JULIET 77 

his way where the pestilence had been, the authori- 
ties had detained him, for fear of infection, for twen- 
ty-four hours. When at last he was set at liberty, 
he hurried back to inform Father Lawrence that 
he had not yet been able to deliver the letter. 

Great was the good friar's distress at this news. 
It was now only three hours to the time when Juliet 
would awake and find herself alone in the Capulet 
vault. Bidding Friar John fetch him an iron crow- 
bar and a lantern, he set out for the cemetery at 
once. 

It was now night, and very dark, for the moon had 
not yet risen. Friar Lawrence stumbled over the 
graves, his poor old feet weary with his long walk. 
In the distance he saw a torch-light burning in one 
of the tall monuments, which he guessed to be that 
belonging to the Capulets. As he made his way, 
trembling with anxiety, he came upon a man sleep- 
ing under a yew-tree, whom he discovered to be 
Romeo's faithful servant, Balthasar. His anxiety 
was deepened when he heard that Romeo had been 
there already half an hour. Having learnt .of the 
death of JuHet, for ill news travels apace, Romeo had 
instantly quitted Mantua and rushed to her tomb, 
bidding Balthasar adieu and ordering him to depart 
at once on pain of death. 

Entering the monument. Friar Lawrence descended 
into the vault. There, to his dismay, he beheld two 
men lying dead, their blood-stained swords on the 
ground beside them — Romeo and Paris ! 

One short hour before, Paris had arrived, bringing 



78 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

flowers to strew on Juliet's tomb. While he was thus 
engaged he heard footsteps and voices approaching. 
Wondering who dared come to his bride's tomb at 
dead of night, he stood aside to watch. To his indig- 
nation and amazement he saw the banished Romeo 
proceed to enter the tomb, and with a mattock break 
open the iron gate that led down to the vault below. 

" This is that banish'd haughty Montague, that 
murdered my love's cousin, with which grief it is sup- 
posed the fair creature died," said Paris to himself. 
" Here he is come to do some villainous shame to the 
dead bodies." 

Striding up to Romeo, he cried angrily : 

" Stop thy unhallowed toil, vile Montague ! Can 
vengeance be pursued further than death .^ Con- 
demned villain, I do apprehend thee ! Obey, and go 
with me, for thou must die." 

Romeo, who had come to gaze once more on his 
dead love's face, and then, by swallowing poison, join 
her beyond the grave, answered the angry Paris 
quietly. To his " Thou must die," he replied : 

" I must indeed, and therefore came I hither. 
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man ; fly 
hence and leave me. Think upon these gone." He 
pointed to the newly made tombs of Tybalt and 
Juliet. " Let them aff^right thee. I beseech thee, 
youth, put not another sin upon my head by urging 
me to fury. O, begone! By heaven, I love thee 
better than myself, for I come hither armed against 
myself ! Stay not, begone ! " 

But it was useless to talk to Paris ; like Tybalt, 



ROMEO AND JULIET 79 

he insisted on fighting, and drew his sword on Romeo, 
calhng him a felon. Paris fell. With his last 
breath he begged Romeo would let him lie there in 
the same tomb with Juliet. The report, to which 
he had been too distracted to listen, then came back 
to him, that this same Paris had hoped to have wedded 
Juliet. Romeo was filled with compassion for him. 
Then he went up to the open bier on which lay Juliet. 

" 0, my love ! my wife ! " he cried, looking on her 
fair face. " Death that hath suck'd the honey of 
thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty." 

Her lips were still crimson, and a faint colour in 
her cheeks. But Romeo never doubted she was in 
truth dead. 

" Eyes, look your last ! Arms, take your last em- 
brace ! " he cried, as he bent over her. " And, lips, 
O you, the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss 
a dateless bargain to engrossing death ! " 

Then, taking out a little flask of deadly poison he 
had bought from an old apothecary in Mantua, he 
drank off the contents, crying: 

" Here's to my love ! . . . Thus with a kiss I die." 

Even at that moment Friar Lawrence's trembling 
old feet were stumbling down into the vault, the door 
of which he found needed no crowbar to open. 

While he was still kneeling beside the body of 
Romeo, anxiously hoping to find life not extinct, 
Juliet stirred. He hastened to her side. She sat up 
and looked round, dazed at first with her strange sur- 
roundings. Then, in a flash, all came back to her. 

" O comfortable friar," she cried, with a sigh of 



80 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

deep relief, as she saw the good old man had kept his 
word. "Where is my lord? I do remember well 
where I should be, and there I am. Where is my 
Romeo? " 

Then the poor friar had to break to her the ter- 
rible news that Romeo lay dead at her feet in the 
tomb, and Paris too. 

" Lady, come," he urged her, hearing voices in 
the distance, " come, come away. I will dispose of 
thee among a sisterhood of holy nuns. Stay not to 
question, for the watch is coming; come, good Juliet 

— I dare no longer stay." 

But Juliet's face was set, and her voice steady 
with resolve, as she answered: 

" Go, get thee hence, for I will not away." 

Friar Lawrence went off to get help, for he saw 
that he alone could not move her. 

Juliet bent over Romeo's lifeless body. In his 
hand she noticed the cup of poison. It was empty 

— not one drop, " one friendly drop," said Juliet, 
" to help me after." 

" I will kiss thy lips," she said ; " haply some 
poison yet doth hang on them to make me die with 
a restorative." 

Steps without warned her someone was coming. 

" A noise," she said fearfully. " Then I'll be 
brief. O happy dagger ! " She snatched up 
Romeo's dagger and plunged it into her breast. 
" This is thy sheath — ' there rest, and let me die." 

So saying, she fell where Romeo lay, united with 
him at last. 



ROMEO AND JULIET 81 

When the watch entered, accompanied by Friar 
Lawrence, they found this pitiful sight — Juliet 
bleeding, newly dead for a second time, Romeo and 
Paris also lifeless. 

The Prince of Verona, the Capulets, and the Mon- 
tagues, all met at that sad tomb, while Friar Law- 
rence told the sad tale of these ill-starred lovers 
whom he had so faithfully tried to serve; victims of 
the wicked feud of their two houses. 

Over their children's lifeless bodies the two old 
chiefs shook hands at last, and each vowed to raise 
to the other's child a statue in pure gold in memory 
of their true and faithful love. 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL 

CHAPTER I 

IN the beautiful city of lUyria there reigned a 
Duke, Orsino by name. He was young, hand- 
some, rich — in fact, fortune had favoured him in 
every way. There was but one thing wanting in his 
cup of happiness. He had fallen desperately in 
love with a beautiful lady in the city, and she would 
have nothing to say to him. She also was young and 
rich, and it would have appeared that these two 
should make a most happy couple ; but alas ! the lit- 
tle god, with his bow and arrows, had only shot one 
shaft, and that had entered the Duke's heart, and 
left the lady fancy free. 

She had, at the time our story commences, lost 
her only brother, and while very truly mourning his 
loss, she made it the excuse for not leaving her house 
and gardens, and for refusing to admit any mes- 
senger sent her by the Duke. He, poor fellow, con- 
tinued day by day sending her presents and en- 
treaties ; nothing, however, softened her heart to- 
wards him. 

It chanced that one day a certain sea-captain, who 

was acquainted with some of the Duke's people, came 

S2 



TWELFTH NIGHT 83 

to the city accompanied by a very good-looking 
young man. He looked very ^^oung, almost girlish, 
with deep dark eyes and short brown curls, on which 
was set a most becoming little cap with a jaunty 
feather. He was not very tall, but his figure was so 
straight and slim that it added to his height, and, as 
was the fashion in those times, he wore doublet and 
hose, well cut and trim, of a good deep green colour, 
and his shoes had plain solid-looking silver buckles. 
Altogether he was a very attractive youth, and when 
his friend the sea-captain managed to have him pre- 
sented to the Duke, the Duke at once liked him, and 
engaged him as one of his pages, soon favouring him 
more than any of the others, and entrusting him with 
the secrets of his unhappy heart. After a while, find- 
ing him so sympathetic and of so sweet and gentle 
a manner, he resolved to send him as his messenger 
to his cold lady-love, hoping that Cesario — that was 
the page's name — could speak more persuasively 
for him than any other had done. 

Now, this Cesario, this handsome, attractive young 
fellow, was really no page, or no youth at all. And 
this was his sad story. Two young people, brother 
and sister, twins and orphans, were sailing from their 
native town Messaline, when the ship encountered a 
great storm, and nearly all lives were lost. The cap- 
tain saved the fainting girl, whose name was Viola, 
and with a few sailors managed to get to the shore. 
The last they saw of Sebastian, the brother, was that, 
having tied himself to a mast, he was battling in the 
waves. Viola, recovering consciousness when they 



84 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

came to shore, asked the friendly captain where they 
found themselves? 

" This is Illyria, lady," he answered. 

" And what should I do in Illyria," cried poor 
Viola, " when my brother is in Elysium ! Perchance 
he is not drowned. What think you? " 

" It is only by chance that you yourself are saved," 
answered the captain; and he tried to comfort her 
with the thought that as the waves had brought 
their frail barque to shore, so might her brother be 
carried thither on his mast. 

In the meantime poor Viola, without friends, ex- 
cepting the kind captain, or money, or clothes, was 
much perplexed as to what she could do in this 
strange city. She questioned the captain of the peo- 
ple of the place, and he told her, being bred and born 
within three hours of the city, that he had often 
heard of the noble Duke, Orsino by name. 

" Orsino ! " said Viola ; " I have heard my father 
name him. He was a bachelor then." 

" And so is now," answered the captain, " or was 
so very late. For but a month ago I went from 
hence, and then 'twas murmured that he did seek the 
love of fair Olivia." 

" Oh that I could serve that lady ! " cried Viola, 
" and so wait until I know what has happened to my 
poor brother." 

The captain shook his head. " I fear that cannot 
be — for she will admit no one, not even the Duke." 

Viola thought for a while, looking hard at the cap- 
tain as though to read his very heart; then telling 



TWELFTH NIGHT 85 

him how she trusted him, and felt sure he was as good 
and kind as he looked, she asked him to help her with 
her plan. This was that he should procure her gar- 
ments suitable to a page, and she resolved to have 
them made exactly like those worn by her brother on 
the day of the shipwreck, and that then he should 
get someone to present her to the Duke, as one de- 
sirous of becoming his page. 

The captain thought the idea good ; but Viola had 
such a winning way with her that she generally man- 
aged to get people to think her ideas good; and he 
promised to keep her secret closely, and to help her 
all in his power. 

So they came to some quiet little hostel in the city, 
where Viola changed from a very charming maiden 
into a fine handsome young man, called Cesario. 
And in that disguise the Duke took her as his page, 
and gave her his trust and affection. 

Poor Viola, now called Cesario, soon gave the Duke 
more, for she f-ell hopelessly in love with him, and 
when he sighed for his cruel Olivia, she sighed over 
her own heart's trouble. 

No wonder the Duke found her so sympathetic! 

But Viola was perfectly trustworthy, and she re- 
solved to help the Duke with his love affair most 
loyally. 

One day, soon after her arrival, the Duke called 
his new page and sent her to t?ie lady Olivia's house, 
saying: "Be not denied, stand at her doors, and 
tell them there thy foot shall grow, till thou hast 
entrance." 



86 SHAKESFEARE'S STORIES 

" Sure, mv noble lord,-' said Viola, " if she be so 
abandoned to her sorrow as it is said, she never will 
admit me ! " 

*' Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds, rather 
than make unprofitable return," urged the Duke. 

*' Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then? " 

" Oh, then unfold the passion of mv love. It will 
become thee well to act my woes. She will attend it 
better in thv youth than in a messenger of more grave 
aspect,'' said the Duke. 

"I think not so. my lord'*; and the page shook 
her head doubtfully. 

" Dear lad. believe it," assured the Duke, " for 
they do yet belie thy happy years that say thou art 
a man. Diana's lip is not more smooth and red, and 
thy small pipe is as tlie maiden voice, shrill and 
sound. I know thy star is right apt for this affair." 
Then he patted Cesario kindly on the shoulder, and 
bade some of liis servants attend her. " Prosper well 
in this," he added, ** and thou shalt live as freely as 
thy lord, and call his fortune thine." 

" I'll do my best to woo your lady," answered 
Viola, and as she went on her way she said sadly to 
herself, " but whoe'er I woo, myself would be liis 
wife." 

CHAPTER II 

The lady OHvia had a beautiful house on the 
outskirts of the town. It was enclosed in a high 
white wall, and within lovely roses and jasmine and 





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88 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

liked good canary wine and sack; and Sir Toby 
had taken the strange idea into his head that he 
would make a match between his young cousin Olivia 
and this very unheroic knight, Sir Andrew Ague- 
cheek. 

" Truly," thought Sir Toby, " if Andrew were 
master here, then we two could do as we please; get 
rid of the interfering Malvolio, and lead a jolly life." 

Sir Andrew sometimes was for giving up this pur- 
pose in despair, for the lady never noticed him, and 
he modestly thought that the Duke had more 
chance to win her than he had. 

" She'll none of the Duke," assured him Sir Toby, 
" Tut ! there's life in it, man." 

" I'll stay a month longer," nodded Sir Andrew, 
trying to look wise and determined. " I am a fellow 
of the strangest mind in the world." So with new 
hope he proposed to " set about some revels." 

With the aid of Olivia's Fool — for every rich 
and well-ordered house in those days had a " fool," 
and this so-called fool needed to be wiser than his 
neighbours, for he had to make j okes and keep every- 
one in good-humour — with his aid Sir Toby and Sir 
Andrew did indeed set about revels ; they drank and 
they sang, and " made the welkin ring, and roused 
the night-owl," as Sir Toby said, and all to such pur- 
pose that presently Maria, the maid, burst into the 
room, crying: 

" What a caterwauling do you keep here ! " 

But she could not sober them; they asked her to 
join in the fun, and offered her some canary wine; 



TWELFTH NIGHT 89 

even the threat that Malvolio was coming only made 
them laugh and shout the more. 

Then in walked Malvolio — grim and stern, and 
full of importance. He looked disapprovingly at the 
two red-faced knights, and at the empty bottles ; he 
had to be somewhat civil to' Sir Toby, as a relative 
of his mistress, but this kind of thing in the late 
hours was going too far! 

"My masters! are you mad, or what are you?" 
he began severely. " Have you no wit, manners, nor 
honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of 
night?" 

Sir Toby, telling Maria to fill up his glass, turned 
on Malvolio. 

"Art any more than a steward? Dost think be- 
cause thou art virtuous there shall be no more cakes 
and ale? " 

This was too much for Malvolio ; warning them all, 
and Maria specially, of their lady's displeasure, he 
went off in wrath, and his departure was followed by 
a shout of laughter, and Maria bade him " Go shake 
his ears ! " 

But when he had gone she turned to the three 
merry men, and told them they had better get them 
to bed for that night, and she had a happy thought 
in her head for paying Malvolio out for all old scores. 

" I know I can do it," she added, with a twinkle 
in her eye. 

" Tell us, tell us ! " cried Sir Toby. " What wilt 
thou do?" 

Maria leaned over the table, and they all crowded 



90 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

their heads together as she whispered with a finger 
on her lips : 

" I will drop in his way some obscure letters of* 
love, wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of 
his leg, the manner of his gait, the expression of his 
eye, forehead and complexion, he shall find himself 
most feeling personated. I can write very like my 
lady ; we can sometimes hardly make distinction of 
our hands." 

"Excellent!" chuckled Sir Toby. "I smell a 
device. He shall think by the letters that thou wilt 
drop that they come from the lady, and that she's in 
love with him? " 

" Oh ! it will be admirable ! " said Sir Andrew, clap- 
ping his hands. 

" Sport royal, I warrant. I know my phj^sic will 
work with him," went on Maria gleefully. " I will 
plant you two and let the Fool make a third, where 
he shall find the letter; observe his construction 
of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the 
event." 

So saying, she bundled them all out of the room, 
blew out the candles and oil-lamp, and then tripped 
off to her own chamber, laughing as she thought 
what a letter she would concoct for the luckless Mal- 
volio to find. 

CHAPTER III 

The next day the Lady Olivia was sitting in her 
rose-garden talking to her " Fool " and Malvolio, 



TWELFTH NIGHT 91 

when Maria came to announce to her that a young 
gentleman much desired to speak with her. 

" From the Count Orsino, is it ? " asked the lady 
wearily. 

" I know not, madam. 'Tis a fair young man, 
and well attended." 

" Go you, Malvolio : if it be a suit from the Count, 
I am sick, or not at home, what you will to dismiss 
it." And Olivia turned to her work, a beautiful 
piece of embroidery in a large standing frame 
whereon she and Maria spent much time. 

Malvolio returned, walking, as was his manner, 
with great pomp, and carrying his tall stick of office, 
without which emblem he never moved, 

" Madam," he said with a bow, " yond young fel- 
low swears he wilt speak with you. I told him you 
were sick: he takes on him to understand so much, 
and therefore comes he to speak with you. I told 
him you were asleep : he seems to have a foreknowl- 
edge of that, too, and therefore comes he to speak 
with you. What is to be said to him, lady.'' He's 
fortified against any denial." 

" Tell him he shall not speak with me." Olivia 
spoke sternly, and went on with her work. 

" He has been told so, and he says he will stand at 
your door like a sheriff's post, but he will speak 
with you ! " 

Malvolio looked as he felt, dismayed at such bold- 
ness ; but a messenger from the Duke must needs be 
treated with some respect. 

" What manner of man is he ? " 



92 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Olivia paused to look up. 

" Of very ill manner," answered Malvolio ; " he mill 
speak with you, will you or not." 

"Of what personage and years is he?" asked 
Olivia, beginning to smile. 

Malvolio shrugged his shoulders. " Not yet old 
enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy, as 
a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codHng when 
'tis almost an apple. He is very well favoured, and 
he speaks very shrewdly." 

That determined Olivia. " Let him approach," 
she said. " Maria, give me my veil ; come, throw it 
over my face. We will once more hear Orsino's 
embassy." 

And then across the sunny green grass came Mal- 
volio, walking pompously in front of a young man, 
of so easy a manner, so straight and slim a figure, 
and as he dolFed his cap and bowed before her, she 
noticed his hair of such warm brown curls, and his 
eyes as he looked merrily at her veiled face, so open 
and trusting, that she felt a curious little thrill at 
her heart. This was a messenger very different to 
all others that had come to her from her noble lover. 

" Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beau- 
ty," began Cesario. " I pray you, tell me if this 
be the lady of the house, for I never saw her. I 
would be loath to cast away my speech, for besides 
that it is excellently well written, I have taken great 
pains to learn it." 

" Whence came you, sir? " asked Olivia, trying to 
speak severely. 



TWELFTH NIGHT 9S 

" I can say little more than I have studied, and 
that question's out of my part," said the messenger 
coolly ; " but if you be the lady of the house, I will 
on with my speech in your praise, and then show you 
the heart of my message." 

" Come to what is important in it : I forgive you 
the praise," answered Olivia. 

" Alas ! I took great pains to study it, and 'tis 
poetical." The page said this with so comic an air, 
that Olivia was constrained to laugh. 

" Give us the place alone," she said, turning to 
her attendants, and when they had gone — Maria 
departing most unwilHngly, for she, too, liked the 
looks of this pert young page — Olivia turned to 
him, and said: "Now, sir — what is your text.f^ " 

" Most sweet lady " 

" A comforting doctrine, and much may be said 
of it," interrupted Olivia, laughing. " Where lies 
your text.? " 

" In Orsino's bosom." 

" In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? " 

" In the first of his heart," said Cesario, with ear- 
nestness. 

" Oh, I have read it ; it is heresy. Have you no 
more to say? " Olivia answered lightly. 

" Good madam, let me see your face." 

Olivia could see very well through her veil, but its 
soft white folds hid all but a flash of dark eyes from 
the beholders ; somehow she felt she would like this 
young man to see how fair she was, but still she 
answered with raillery : " We will draw the curtain 



94 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

and show you the picture. Look you, sir, such a 
one I was this present; is it not well done? " 

Viola looked with eager and somewhat jealous eyes 
on the face her master loved so well, and looking, 
felt that indeed it was a lovely face ; somewhat sad, 
but for that she, too, mourning a dear brother, could 
feel great sympathy, and the grey eyes that met 
hers, and seemed to carry a message with them, were 
very soft and tender. 

" Excellently done — if God didi all," she said at 
last. 

Olivia laughed to hide her own feeling. 

" Oh, sir ! 'tis engrained ; 'twill endure wind and 
weathers." 

" 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white 
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on. But, 
lady, I see what you are; you are too proud! My 
lord and master loves you. Oh, such a love could 
but be recompensed though you were crowned the 
queen of beauty ! " 

Very earnestly now spoke Viola, remembering her 
mission, and striving to forget her own love, or to 
sacrifice it for her dear master's happiness, 

" How does he love me ? " 

Olivia looked long at the youth ; surely he should 
know, too, of love, if those dark eyes spoke true. 

" With adoration, fertile tears, with groans that 
thunder love, with sighs of fire ! " answered Cesario. 

Olivia rose from her chair ; she spoke coldly. 

" Your lord does know my mind ; I cannot love 
him. Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, 



TWELFTH NIGHT 95 

a gracious person ; but yet I cannot love him. He 
might have took his answer long ago." 

" If I did love you in my master's flame, with such 
a suffering, in your denial I would find no sense, I 
would not understand it," urged Viola. 

" Why, what would you do ? " 

Olivia turned to this bold page. It pleased her 
somehow to hear this youth talk of love, even of the 
Duke's love. 

" I would make a willow cabin at your gate, and 
call upon my soul within the house. I would holla 
your name to the echoing hills, and make the bab- 
bling gossip of the air cry. out, ' Olivia ! ' Oh, you 
should not rest between the elements of air and earth, 
but you should pity me ! " 

Olivia looked down as she said softly, " You might 
do much." Then she looked up suddenly, and asked : 
" What is your parentage ? " 

** Above my fortunes," Viola answered, a little sur- 
prised at the question ; " yet my state is well. I am 
a gentleman." 

Olivia paused; then she said with quiet de- 
termination : 

" Get you to your lord ; I cannot love him. Let 
him send no more ; unless," and she spoke more softly, 
" unless you come to me again — to tell me how he 
takes it," she added quickly. " Fare you well. I 
thank you for your pains." 

She loosened a small embroidered bag from her 
side and offered it. " Spend this for me." 

" I am no fee'd post, lady ; keep your purse," said 



96 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Viola, with a touch of anger. " My master, not my- 
self, lacks recompense. Farewell, fair cruelty." 

With a low bow Viola turned hurriedly, and walked 
out of the garden. Olivia followed with her eyes, 
and murmured softly to herself: 

" ' V^hat is your parentage ? ' ' Above my for- 
tunes yet my state is well. I am a gentleman.' I'll 
be sworn thou art. Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, 
thy action and spirit, do give thee five-fold blazon ! " 

She sank into her chair, and looked again across 
the sunny lawn where the page had passed, and 
sighed and sighed. 

" How now ! " she said to herself. " Even so 
quickly may one catch the plague! Methinks I feel 
this youth's perfections with an invisible and subtle 
stealth to creep in at my eyes." 

The lady Olivia was not one to sit and sigh and 
do nothing; she was accustomed to command and to 
be obeyed. If she should find this youth had lighted 
in her the love he pleaded for in vain for his master, 
then would she, from her queenly height, stoop to the 
page and woo him, who could never dream of wooing 
her! 

So she called to Malvolio. 

" Run after that same peevish messenger, the 
Duke's man," she said ; " he left this ring behind him, 
would I or not. Tell him I will none of it. Desire 
him not to flatter with his lord, nor hold him up with 
hopes. I am not for him. If that youth will come 
this way to-morrow I'll give him reasons for it. Hie 
thee, Malvolio ! " 



TWELFTH NIGHT 97 

Malvolio, none too pleased with the errand, left his 
lady's presence, and she, wandering restlessly in her 
lovely garden and plucking here a rose and there 
another, without heeding, wondered and wondered 
how this adventure might end. Was this love ? Was 
she in love? Could a page, a young man of whom 
she knew nothing but his humble estate, his frank 
bearing, and winning personality, could he have 
lighted in the heart she was proud to keep fancy free 
that same love that appeared so to torture the Duke ? 

" Alas ! " she murmured to herself : 

"I do I know not what, and fear to find 
Mine eyes too great a flatterer for my mind. 
Fate, show thy force ; ourselves we do not know — 
What is decreed must be; and be this so." 

And finding much comfort in thus putting the re- 
sponsibility on Fate, the Countess went indoors, and 
called Maria to come and help her dress, 

Maria found her lady in a very queer, fanciful 
mood, and Maria, being very shrewd, put it all down 
to the visit of the Duke's fascinating messenger. 

As Viola walked back to the Duke's house, she 
heard hurried steps behind her, and an irritated voice 
called: " Hie, you ; stop ! " and turning saw the tall, 
hard-featured steward of the lady she had just left, 
beckoning her. She paused, and Malvolio caught 
her up, and began crossly: 

" Were you not even now with the Countess 
Ohvia.?" 

" Even now, sir." 



98 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" She returns this ring to you, sir. You might 
have saved me my pains to have taken it away your- 
self. She adds, moreover, that you should put your 
lord into a desperate assurance she will have none of 
him." Malvolio still spoke with irritation, and held 
out the ring; then remembering the rest of the mes- 
sage, he added to the wondering Viola : " And one 
thing more, that you never be so hardy as to come 
again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's 
taking of this. Receive it so." 

Viola waved aside the proffered ring. She felt 
she could not take it, but neither could she betray the 
Countess to her servant, so she said: 

" She took the ring of me. I'll none of it." 

Malvolio still held out the ring. 

" Come, sir, you peevishly threw it at her, and her 
will is it should be returned. If it be worthy stoop- 
ing for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his 
that finds it." 

With these words Malvolio threw the ring at 
Viola's feet and turned impatiently, muttering to 
himself curses on all silly pages who caused him to 
be sent running after them — a nice thing indeed 
for a man of his dignity] 

Viola picked up the ring and looked at the glit- 
tering stone, reading quite surely the message it was 
meant to convey. Her woman's heart could read 
what the other woman's heart would sav without 
words, and she shook her head over the pitifulness 
of it. 

" I left no ring with her ; what means this lady ? 



TWELFTH NIGHT 99 

Fortune forbid my outside have not charmed her ! 
She made good view of me. She loves me sure. If 
this be so, as it is, poor ladj! it were better love a 
dream. My master loves her dearly, and I, poor 
wretch ! love him as much ; and she, mistaken, seems 
to dote on me ! Now, alas the day ! what thriftless 
sighs shall poor Olivia breathe ! " 

Then, placing the ring carefully in her doublet, 
she shrugged her shoulders with a sad smile, and 
went on her way thinking: 

" O time, thou must untangle this, not I. 
It is too hard a knot for me to untie." 

The Duke was whiling away the time with music ; 
he found it very soothing. To him it was the food of 
love, and while his musicians played, his fancy, freed 
by the strains, wandered to his lady-love. 

He turned to Viola. 

" Come hither, boy. If ever thou dost love, in the 
sweet pangs of it remember me. How dost thou like 
this tune ? " 

Viola found that it was full of the echo of love. 

The Duke looked at his young page, and marked 
his blushing cheek. 

" By my life ! " he said, " young though thou art, 
thou hast loved. Is it not so, boy? " 

" A little, by your favour," answered Viola, grow- 
ing quite abashed. 

The Duke, delighted to find a fellow-sufferer, 
asked : 

" What kind of woman is it ? " 



100 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" Of your complexion," answered the page, looking 
up into' his face. 

" She is not worth thee, then," laughed the Duke. 
" What years hath she ? " 

" About your years, my lord ; " and Viola smiled 
at her lord's look of wonder. 

" Too old, by heaven, boy ! Let thy love be 
younger than thyself ; " and the Duke patted her 
kindly on the shoulder. This evidently was not a 
love to take seriously, so he returned to his own more 
interesting state, and in spite of the message of yes- 
terday, he bade Cesario go once more to his " beloved 
cruelty." 

"But if she cannot love you, sir?" urged Viola. 

" I cannot so be answered ; " and the Duke looked 
as determined as Olivia had done. 

" Sooth, but you must ! " Viola spoke boldly. 
" Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, hath for 
your love as great a pang of heart as you have for 
Olivia. You cannot love her — you tell her so ; 
must she not then be answered? " 

The Duke pooh-poohed the idea. 

" There is no woman's sides can bear the beating 
of so strong a passion as love doth give my heart; 
no woman's heart so big to hold so much. Make no 
compare between that love a woman can bear me and 
that I owe Olivia." 

Viola looked at him curiously, but with a great 
tenderness in her eyes. 

" Ay, but I know " And then she hesi- 
tated. 



TWELFTH NIGHT 101 

"What dost thou know?" inquired the Duke. 

" Too well what love women to men may owe. In 
faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father 
had a daughter loved a man, as it might be perhaps, 
were I a woman, I should love your lordship." 

Viola paused, and the Duke asked with interest: 

" And what is her history ? " 

Viola shook her head mournfully. 

" A blank, my lord. She never told her love, but 
let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, feed on her 
damask cheek. She pined in thought, and with a 
green and yellow melancholy, she sat like Patience on 
a monument, smiling at grief. Was this not love 
indeed? We men," went on Viola, trying to put on 
a very manly voice and air, " may say more, swear 
more indeed, but still we prove much in our vows, but 
little in our love." 

"But died thy sister of her love, my boy?" the 
Duke asked anxiously. 

Viola shook her head sadly. 

" I am all the daughters of my father's house, and 
all the brothers, too, and yet I know not." Then, 
fearing that she might betray her secret, she asked 
with a sudden change of tone : " Sir, shall I to this 
lady?" 

" Ay — that's the theme." The Duke roused 
himself out of a strange melancholy that Cesario's 
story of his sister had raised. He had begun to 
wonder if his love were any stronger than that of the 
young girl; he did not feel like dying of itl So he 
eagerly drew out a costly chain. " To her in haste," 



102 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

he said. " Give her this jewel. Say my love can 
give no place — bide no delay." 



CHAPTER IV 

Maria's little plot to make a fool of the cross- 
grained Malvolio was now ready in the shape of 
a most cunningly worded letter, written to imi- 
tate the handwriting of her lady, and so to mislead 
the unwary Malvolio into thinking it came indeed 
from his mistress. She was bubbling over with eager 
anticipation, and having dropped her missive right 
in the path she knew Malvolio was sure to come by, 
she called her fellow mischief-makers. Sir Toby and 
Sir Andrew, and bade them hide behind a thick box- 
hedge, from where they might peep out and view the 
sport. She hid herself there, too, and all three 
waited for the victim to fall into' the trap. 

Soon, by came Malvolio. He had been walking 
in the sun and thinking very pleasant thoughts, for 
he felt that he was quite an exceptional person, and 
undoubtedly superior to all the riff-rafF with whom 
he came in contact, barring, of course, his mistress. 
She, too, was an exceptional person, and she recog- 
nized it in him. Maria had told him many times 
how much she affected him, and that should she fancy 
anyone it would be one of his complexion. Also she 
showed great respect to him, and trusted him. Mal- 
volio let his chest spread out with pride. He began 



TWELFTH NIGHT 103 

to think very wonderful things might happen. Then 
his eye caught the white letter lying in his path. 

"What have we here.^^ " said he, and stooped to 
pick it up. 

And the two knights behind the hedge could hardly 
contain themselves for glee. 

" By my life, this is my lady's hand ! These be 
her very C's and P's and her T's, and thus makes she 
her great E's. It is out of question, her hand." 

He turned round the envelope and then read: 
" To the unknown beloved — this, and my good 
wishes." 

Malvolio certainly had no right to think that meant 
him, but after very little hesitation he decided to 
break the wax seal, and having done so, a further 
mystery tempted him on. He read: 

** Jove knows I love : 
But who? 
Lips^ do not move. 
No man must know.'* 

" Ah ! if this should be thee, Malvolio ? " he con- 
tinued out loud, much to his hearers' delight ; and 
then again he read: 

" I may command where I adore : 
But silence, like a Lucrece knife, 
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore; 
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life." 

Malvolio stroked his little pointed beard. 

" Let me see, let me see," he said meditatively. 



104 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 



(( ( 



I may command where I adore ' — why, she may 
command me ! " he almost shouted, as the happy idea 
struck him. " I serve her — she is my lady." He 
looked again at the paper. " M, O, A, I. Now if I 
could make that resemble something in me." 

He looked hard at the letters, while both knights 
peeped out quite incautiously to see how he was tak- 
ing it; but Malvolio had no eyes or senses for any- 
thing but this magic document. 

" M, O, A, I. Now, sure each one of those letters 
are in my name. Soft — here follows prose," 

He turned the page, and here indeed Maria had 
let her pen run! He was to be fairly caught, if so 
be he could not read the mockery between the lines. 

" If this fall into thy hand, revolve." Malvolio 
rubbed his chin and wondered just what that meant. 
The next sentence seemed clearer, " In my stars I 
am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness. Some 
are born great, some achieve greatness, and some 
have greatness thrust upon them. Thy fates open 
their hands ; let thy blood and spirit embrace them, 
and to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast 
thy humility and appear bold. Be opposite with a 
kinsman, surly with servants ; let thy tongue tang 
arguments of state ; put thyself into a trick of singu- 
larity. She thus advises thee that sighs for thee. 
Remember who' commended thy yellow stockings and 
wished to see thee ever cross-gartered. I say, re- 
member. Go to, thou art made if thou desirest to 
be so ; if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fel- 
low of servants, and not worthy to touch Fortune's 



TWELFTH NIGHT 105 

fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services 
with thee, the Fortunate-Unhappy." 

Malvollo finished, and clasped the letter with a 
fine flourish to his heart. 

*' Daylight can discover no more ! " He waved 
the letter on high. " This is open ! I will be 
proud." He strutted round, to the great joy of the 
hidden knights. " To be Count Malvolio ! I will 
read politic authors; I will baffle Sir Toby. After 
I am married I will send for him. I will extend my 
hand to him ; I will say : ' Cousin Toby, my fortunes 
having cast me on your niece, give me this right of 
speech ' " 

"What, what.?" Sir Toby almost interrupted 
the rehearsal. 

" You must amend your drunkenness," Malvolio 
went on, waving to the air. 

Sir Toby nearly came out and knocked him down, 
but Maria held him back, and Malvolio went on: 

" Beside, you waste your time with a foolish 
knight " 

" That's me," whispered Sir Andrew, quite ex- 
cited. 

" One Sir Andrew," Malvolio continued. 

Then he looked again at the precious letter, re- 
reading it carefully. 

" No, I do not fool myself — my lady loves me ! 
She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she 
did praise my being cross-gartered. I thank my 
stars I am happy ! Here is yet a postscript." And 
he read: 



106 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If 
thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smil- 
ing. Thy smile becomes thee well; therefore in my 
presence still smile, dear my sweet, I pr'ythee." 

" Jove, I thank thee," cried poor Malvolio, thor- 
oughly deluded. " I will smile, I will do everything 
that thou wilt have me." 

And away he hurried to find his yellow stockings 
and to appear smiling before his mistress, while the 
three conspirators came out of their hiding and shook 
the air with their merriment, Maria promising again 
to send for them that they might see the result. 



CHAPTER V 

Once again Viola stood in her page's costume be- 
fore Olivia. She would obey once more Orsino's 
wish, and plead the cause none knew so well as she 
was quite hopeless. 

Olivia had sent away her attendants, and asked 
the name of her visitor. 

" Cesario is your servant's name, fair lady," an- 
swered Viola. 

" My servant, sir ! You are servant to the Count 
Orsino." 

" And he is yours, madam. I come to ask your 
gentle thoughts on his behalf." 

Olivia waved her hand impatiently. 

*^ I bade you never speak again of him. But " — • 



TWELFTH NIGHT 107 

she looked at him very earnestly — " would you un- 
dertake another suit, I had rather hear you solicit 
that than music from the spheres." 

Viola felt very uncomfortable and truly sorry for 
both Olivia and herself at this comical plight, that 
yet was so serious to Olivia. She dared not confess 
her secret, so the only thing was to kindly let Olivia 
see such love was hopeless. 

" Dear lady " she began. 

But Olivia interrupted her to explain about the 
ring she had sent after Cesario. 

"What might you think?" 

" I pity you," answered the page, wishing she 
could escape. 

" That's a degree to love," murmured Olivia softly. 

" No, not a whit, for very oft we pity our ene- 
mies," said Cesario almost unkindly. 

There was no mistaking it, even Olivia's love-blind 
eyes could see that the handsome young page had 
but one wish, and that was to be gone, and yet she 
kept him. In all her youth and beauty she rose up, 
and had he indeed been what he seemed, there is no 
doubt a real Cesario would have been at her feet, for 
she was not ashamed of her love. 

" Cesario, by the roses of the spring, 
By maidenhood, honour, truth and everything, 
I love thee so that, maugre all thy pride. 
Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide.'* 

And the seeming page turned and faced her as 
squarely and truthfully. 



108 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" By innocence I swear^ and by my youth, 
I have one hearty one bosom^ and one truth, 
And that no woman has ; nor never none 
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. 
And so adieu, good madam; never more 
Will I my master's tears to you deplore.'* 

Bowing low, Viola turned to go; Olivia held o>it 
her hand imploringly, she could not bear to think 
that this was indeed to be farewell. " Yet come 
again," she said, " for thou mayest move that heart 
which now abhors, to like his love." 

Viola turned and shook her head, then slowly 
passed over the sunny lawn, and out under the arch- 
way cut in the high yew-hedge. Sadly she went, and 
sadly looked Olivia after the beloved page. 

" Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness," said Vi- 
ola to herself. Indeed, the masquerading page had 
brought a good deal of unhappiness on another, as 
well as on herself. And she had not yet finished with 
all the trouble it was to bring her. 

Olivia, calling all her pride to her aid, that none 
should remark upon her sadness, bade Maria tell 
Malvolio that she would speak with him. 

" He's coming, madam," said Maria, trying not 
to smile ; " but in very strange manner. He is sure 
possessed, madam." 

" Why, what is the matter — Hoes he rave ? " 

" No, madam, he does nothing but smile. Your 
ladyship were best to have some guard about you if 
he comes, for sure the man is tainted in his wits." 

Maria sat down demurely to her work, but kept a 




CO 






TWELFTH NIGHT 109 

corner of her eye open to watch the approaching Mal- 
volio ; also she noted with inward mirth the amaze- 
ment on her lady's face as Malvolio, bowing and smil- 
ing, stood before her. 

" How now, Malvolio? " Olivia asked a little 
sternly. 

" Sweet lady, ho, ho ! " Malvolio, clad in the gay- 
est knee-breeches he possessed, and with the most 
screaming yellow stockings, cross-gartered up and 
down, came prancing forward, smiling from ear to 
ear, and kissing his hand. Olivia sat up very 
straight in her high-backed chair, in utter bewilder- 
ment at such conduct. 

" Why, how dost thou, man ? What is the matter 
with thee? " 

Again bowing and scraping, Malvolio answered: 

" It did come into his hands, and commands shall 
be executed. I think we do know the sweet Roman 
hand." 

"God comfort thee!'* cried his mistress. "Why 
dost thou smile and kiss thy hand so oft?" 

" ' Be not afraid of greatness ' : 'twas well writ," 
smiled back Malvolio. 

" What meanest thou by that, Malvolio? " 

" ' Some are born great,' " quoted the steward, 
showing he had read well the wonderful letter. 

" What say est thou ? " Olivia was getting quite 
anxious. 

" ' And some have greatness thrust upon them,' " 
he cried triumphantly. 

" Heaven restore thee ! " said his mistress. 



110 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" ' Remember who commended thy yellow stock- 
mgs 

" My yellow stockings ! " exclaimed Olivia, while 
Maria bent over her work to hide her laughter. 

" * And wished to see thee cross-gartered,' " went 
on Malvolio, looking at his legs. " ' Go to, thou art 
made if thou desirest to be so ; if not ' " — and he 
came quite close to his lady — " ' let me see thee a 
servant still ! ' " 

Olivia jumped up. 

'' Why, this is very midsummer madness ! Good 
Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where's my 
cousin Toby.f' Let some of my people have a spe- 
cial care of him ; " and leaving them, the ladj?" Olivia 
walked quickly towards the house. 

Sir Toby was nothing loath to give special care 
to his enemy, and while poor Malvolio thought his 
lady was treating him with honour, her kinsman, 
with Sir Andrew and Maria to help, had him securely 
locked in a small dark chamber, and assuring him he 
was mad, they left him there to think it over. 

CHAPTER VI 

Sir Toby and Sir Andrew had both been watch- 
ing for the page who seemed so great a favour- 
ite with the lady; and Sir Andrew had more than 
once overheard his silver-tongued compliments. 
'' He's a rare courtier," he said jealously, for he had 
never a chance to say one word to the haughty lady. 

Sir Toby, quickly scenting a joke, encouraged his 



TWELFTH NIGHT 111 

friend's anger, and made liim believe — for it was 
easy to gull the witless Sir Andrew — that Olivia 
encouraged the handsome page for no other reason 
than to make him, Sir Andrew, jealous. Then he 
pointed out to him that his only course was to have 
a duel with Cesario. 

" Challenge the Count's youth to fight with him ! " 
he cried, slapping the sword by his round side. 
" Hurt him in eleven places, my cousin shall take 
note of it ; and assure thyself there is no love-broker 
in the world can more prevail in man's commenda- 
tion with women than a report of valour." 

So Sir Andrew was despatched to write a letter 
both curst and brief, eloquent and full of invitation, 
and Sir Toby undertook to deliver it; and fancying 
very truly that the slender-looking page might not 
be a great man with the sword, and knowing his 
friend to be but a bragging coward, he promised 
himself much fun in egging on the two to meet each 
other. 

Viola, walking slowly and sadly away from the 
lady, was met by Sir Toby, whom she knew to be a 
kinsman of Olivia's. He accosted her, and to her 
dismay said that a very valiant knight. Sir Andrew 
Ague-cheek, was greatly incensed at such conduct 
and demanded to fight, then and there. 

" You mistake, sir ; I am sure no man hath any 
quarrel with me." 

Viola looked back at the gateway she had left, and 
wished it were not beneath her manhood's dignity to 
cut and run. 



lis SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

That being impossible, she politely asked Sir Toby 
what offence had been committed, being quite willing 
to apologize. " I am no fighter," she said modestly. 

" I only know," said wicked old Sir Toby, " that 
the knight is incensed against you, and he is indeed, 
sir, the most skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that 
you could possibly have found in any part of Illyria. 
Will you walk towards him ? I will make your peace 
with hintif I can ! " he added kindly. 

Poor Viola, feeling as happy as though she were 
walking towards a den of lions, followed Sir Toby, 
and then sat down quaking, while he sought Sir An- 
drew, who just round the corner was nervously play- 
ing with his sword. 

" Why, man, he's a very devil ! " Sir Toby greeted 
him joyfully. " I had a pass with him; I have not 
met such a flrago ! " 

" I'll not meddle with him," isaid Sir Andrew, 
sheathing his sword with more determination than 
he usually showed. " Plague on it ! an I thought he 
had been valiant and so cunning in fence, I would 
never have challenged him. Make him let the matter 
slip, and I will give him my grey horse Capilet." 

Sir Toby shrugged his fat old shoulders with con- 
tempt, but the joke was good. 

" I'll make the motion. Stand here, make a good 
show: on't ; this shall end without the loss of souls. 
Marry, I'll ride your horse as well as I ride you," he 
added aside. 

Then coming up to Viola he said: 

*' There's no remedy, sir ; he will fight you for his 



TWELFTH NIGHT 113 

oath's sake. But he hath thought better of the quar- 
rel, that is scarce worth talking about ! Therefore 
draw, for the supportance of his vow ; he protests he 
will not hurt jou." 

Thus encouraged, Viola tremblingly drew her small 
sword from her belt. 

" Pray God defend me ! " she thought. " A little 
more would make me tell them how much I lack of a 
man." 

Sir Toby, having now got the two combatants 
within sight of each other, both with drawn weapons, 
hurried to Sir Andrew and patted him on the back. 
" Come, Sir Andrew, there!s no remedy ; the gentle- 
man will, for his honour's sake, have one bout with 
you, but he has promised me, as a gentleman and a 
soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on ; to it." 

" Pray God he keeps his oath," quacked Sir An- 
drew. 

And Viola, advancing timidly, murmured: 

" I do assure you 'tis against my will." 

But the points of the swords of those two valiant 
duellists had scarcely touched, both backing more 
than they advanced, when a strange interruption oc- 
curred. A burly-looking stranger came suddenly 
round the corner, and starting to see Cesario engaged 
in a duel, knocked up both swords with his own, say- 
ing: 

" Put up your sword. If this young gentleman 
have done offence, I take the fault on me. If you of- 
fend him, I, for him, defy you." 

" You, sir ! — why, what are you ? " asked Sir 



114 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Toby, angry that the fun was to be spoiled, while 
Viola, astonished, drew back, and Sir Andrew, noth- 
ing loath, sheathed his sword. 

" One, sir," answered the stranger, " that for his 
love dares yet do more than you have heard him brag 
to you he will." 

" On," cried Sir Toby, who was no coward, and 
was very apt with his sword. " I am for you." And 
he attacked the stranger ; but they had barely crossed 
swords when two police-officers, following hard on the 
stranger's heels, ran in, and one of them laid a heavy 
hand on the stranger's shoulders, saying: "An- 
tonio, I arrest thee at the suit of Count Orsino." 

The stalwart stranger tried to shake oiF the hand. 

*' You do mistake, sir." 

** No sir, no jot. I know you, though you have 
no sea-cap on your head." 

Then, to Viola's astonishment, the stranger turned 
to her, saying: 

" I must obey. This comes with seeking you, but 
there's no remedy for it. But what will you do, now 
my necessity makes me ask you for my purse .f^ You 
stand amazed, but be of comfort." 

" Come, sir, away," said the police-officer, pulling 
his arm. 

" I must entreat of you some of that money," 
again said the stranger. 

" What money, sir? " asked Viola, amazed. " For 
the fair kindness that you have show'd me here, out 
of my low ability I'll lend you something — my hav- 
ing is not much. Here's half my purse," 



TWELFTH NIGHT 115 

The stranger looked her up and down with scorn. 
" Will you deny me now? Do not tempt my misery, 
lest it make me upbraid you with those kindnesses 
that I have done you." 

" I know of none ; nor know I you I^y voice or any 
feature," said Viola, more and more puzzled. 

" Come, sir — I pray you, go," and both police- 
oflScers took the stranger by the arms. 

" Let me speak a little," burst out the stranger, 
boiling with indignation. " This youth that you see 
here I snatched one half out of the jaws of death, re- 
lieved him with love and devotion " 

" What's that to us ? — "the time goes by — away," 
said the first officer. 

" But oh ! how vile has proved this man. Thou 
hast, Sebastian, done shame to thy good features, 
which I thought so full of worth " 

Here the officers dragged him away, and looking 
back reproachfully at Viola, the poor man left the 
scene. 

Viola had started with joy at one word in his abuse 
— that was " Sebastian." Could it be this angry 
stranger mistook her for her beloved brother? He 
said he had snatched him from the jaws of death, 
and she and her brother were so like that she seemed 
to see him in her glass, and specially was this so since 
she had been dressed like a page, and in the fashion 
he always wore. Here, indeed, might be a happy 
ending to her troubles. " Oh, prove true, that I, 
dear brother, be now taken for you." 

Forgetting all else, she hurried away to the Duke's 



116 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

house ; there she would get some inquiries made about 

this rough yet so kind stranger, as to why he was 

arrested by the Duke, and so to find the Sebastian 

of whom he spoke. 

• ••••• • 

Now, the stranger, who had truly mistaken Viola 
for Sebastian, had good cause to feel injured. He 
was the captain of a small ship, and one day, some 
three months ago, while staying at his little house 
on the seashore, he had seen a strange object. At 
first he thought it only some wreckage; then he no- 
ticed what looked like a man tied to it. Quick as 
thought he plunged into the sea, and battling val- 
iantly with the waves, he brought the mast to shore. 
There indeed was a youth, firmly lashed to it, but to 
all appearance he was dead, With great pains, how- 
ever, the captain restored the poor boy to conscious- 
ness, and nursed him back to life with every kindness. 

Sebastian, for it was he, had as winning a way with 
him as had his sister Viola, and the good sea-captain 
could not do enough to show him love and devotion. 
When he was quite recovered • — and he had a long 
illness — Sebastian expressed a wish to go to the 
city of Illyria, some few hours' distance, to see if, 
perchance, he might find news of his sister, whom he 
thought was drowned, or of the captain in whose 
ship they had sailed. Sebastian's captain, Antonio, 
consented to go with him, but he told him that having 
at one time fought against the Duke's ships, and 
done them some damage, he must not be seen in the 
city, or he would be imprisoned; he would therefore 



TWELFTH NIGHT 117 

go to a quiet little inn and await him there. Giving 
Sebastian his purse, in case he fancied to buy any 
trifle, he left him to look alone at the city sights. 
He waited so long at the inn that he grew anxious 
about his dear companion, and sallied forth, when 
some sharp-eyed poHceman noticed him, and followed 
him, coming on him, as we have seen, just when he 
was defending one whom he supposed to be his young 
friend Sebastian. No wonder his wrath rose at the 
seeming falseness of one he had loved and befriended, 
even as though he were his own son. 



CHAPTER VII 

Sebastian in the meantime had had his fill of ad- 
ventures, strange ones in very sooth. 

As he walked on the outskirts of the city, where a 
great wall enclosed a fine mansion, he was accosted 
by a Fool; who urged him to return to the lady he 
had just left. He thought the man was fooling, as 
was his wont; but presently out of the gate near by 
came two swaggering knights, and both attacked him 
rudely. Sir Andrew, finding the page none so vali- 
ant as he thought, had followed Sir Toby's advice 
to be after him again, but they met quite another 
fighter. Sebastian very naturally turned on them 
with his drawn sword, wondering if all the people 
of the town were mad, when again the gate opened, 
and a lovely lady ran forward, and, scolding the 
two knights roundly, she entreated his pardon for 



118 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

their rudeness, and asked him to return to her 
house. 

As one in a dream Sebastian put up his sword, 
gazing at the lady as though he could never take his 
eyes off her. " If this be a dream, still let me sleep," 
he thought; and when OHvia, for it was she, gently 
put her hand on his arm, saying, " Come, I prithee ; 
would that thou wouldst be ruled by me," he could 
only answer, eagerly kissing the hand that rested on 
his arm, " Madam, I will." 

Whereat the lady seemed much rejoiced, and led 
him into a beautiful garden. There he was served 
with refreshment, and still, as though in a dream, he 
heard this most sweet, most beauteous lady admit 
that she loved him, and she hung round his neck a 
finely wrought chain of gold, on which hung a minia- 
ture of her own most fair face. 

What could this gallant young man do but kiss it 
with uttermost devotion, and respond with fervour 
to all the lady's tender sayings? 

Indeed, whether he were dreaming or not, Sebas- 
tian felt that he had now encountered the lady to 
whom he could vow his life; and when she proposed 
that, if he were so minded, the priest should now 
unite them, for her own private chapel was in the 
grounds, he accepted the idea with joy. Olivia ex- 
plained that this private marriage could be kept se- 
cret as long as he wished, but that it would enable 
her jealous soul to live at peace, and that hereafter 
the celebration should be held with the dignity befit- 
ting her state. 



TWELFTH NIGHT 119 

Sebastian answered : " I will go with you, and 
having sworn truth, ever will be true." And Olivia, 
gazing into those dark eyes she loved, or thought 
she loved, so well, was only too happy to believe him. 

After the priest had blessed them, the lady seemed 
in no way astonished that he had to leave her; for 
he bethought him of Antonio waiting for him at the 
inn, and he also longed to tell him of this strange 
good-fortune ; so, promising to return ere long, he 
left his newly found lady-love, and hurried off. 

Meanwhile Viola had returned to the Duke, and 
explained her adventure to him, and together they 
went towards the Lady Qlivia's house in search of 
the man who had come to the rescue of Cesario. The 
police-officers quickly brought him before the Duke, 
who at once recognized him as one of those who had 
fought boldly against his ships ; but when he called 
him " pirate " and " thief," and wondered he should 
dare come into his city, Antonio held himself proudly, 
answering : 

" Orsino, noble sir, be pleased that I shake off 
those names you give me. Antonio never yet was 
thief or pirate, though, I confess, Orsino's enemy. 
A witchcraft drew me thither. That most ungrate- 
ful boy there by your side from the rude sea's en- 
raged and foamy mouth did I redeem. For his 
sake did I expose myself to the dangers of this town. 
But his false cunning taught him to deny my ac- 
quaintance when I was in trouble, and refused me my 
purse which I had given for his use not half an hour 
before." 



120 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Cesario and the Duke looked at one another, and 
Cesario shook his head. 

" When came he to the town ? " asked the Duke. 

" To-day, my lord, and for three months we have 
never been parted," answered Antonio. 

" Why, this is madness ! " cried the Duke. " For 
three months this youth hath waited on me — but 
here comes the Countess," he cried suddenly with de- 
light, as Olivia and her attendants came out of the 
garden gates. " Now heaven walks on earth ! " 

Olivia made him a sweeping curtsey, but turned 
to Cesario, 

" You do not keep promise with me, Cesario." 

She looked at him tenderly and reproachfully. 

'' Madam ! " asked Cesario, full of wondering, and 
remembering the farewell in which he said he never 
more would come near her. 

The Duke began : " Gracious Olivia " ; but the 
lady entreated for no more compliments, and again 
turned with an endearing look to Cesario. 

Then the Duke grew angry, and reproached her 
for her coldness ; but seeing that her coldness turned 
to warm love when she looked at Cesario, he threat- 
ened to have him killed, even though he loved him, to 
spite his lady. 

Viola, turning coldly from Olivia, answered the 
Duke '' that to do thee pleasure most willingly would 
I die a thousand deaths." 

Olivia, looking in vain in Cesario's eyes for the 
love she had so lately seen there, exclaimed : " Ah 
me, detested! how am I beguiled." 



TWELFTH NIGHT 121 

"Who does beguile jou? " asked Viola. "Who 
does you wrong? " 

" Is it so long? Hast thou forgotten? " cried 
Olivia pitifully, holding out her hands to the amazed 
page; and as the Duke took Viola by the arm and 
was walking away, she called : " Cesario, husband — 
stay ! " 

That brought the Duke to a sudden standstill. 

" Husband 1 " he shouted. 

" Ay, husband ! " said Olivia, proudly and firmly. 
"Can he deny it?" 

" Her husband, sirrah ! " asked the Duke, turning 
on the page with fury. . 

" No', my lord, not I," said poor Viola, wondering 
what next would happen. 

At that moment the priest walked out of the gate, 
and being appealed to by the lady, he confirmed her 
statement that but two hours ago he had married 
her to the Duke's page. 

Then, indeed, the Duke was angry. He shook 
his arm free of Viola's hold, and said contemptu- 
ously : " Oh, thou dissembling cub ! take her, and 
farewell, but direct thy feet where thou and I hence- 
forth may never meet." 

Poor Viola began to protest in vain, when all at- 
tention was turned to Sir Andrew, who rushed in, 
calling out loudly for a surgeon for Sir Toby, and 
he himself appeared to have a bleeding head. " Oh," 
he cried, pointing to Viola, " he has broken my crown, 
and has given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb, too. For 
the love of God, your help ! " 



122 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

"But who has done this, Sir Andrew?" asked 
Olivia. 

" The Count's gentleman, Cesario ; he's a very dev- 
il." And Sir Andrew mopped up his bleeding forehead. 

"Why do you say that?" cried Viola, beginning 
to feel all the world was mad. " You drew your 
sword on me without a cause, but I spoke you fair 
and hurt you not." 

" Oh, oh ! " groaned Sir Andrew ; " if a bloody cox- 
comb be a hurt, you have hurt me, and Sir Toby too. 
Ah, here comes Sir Toby." 

Sir Toby, supported by a servant, and reeling, 
not quite so much from his wound as from his pota- 
tions, brushed aside all inquiries. " That's all one : 
has hurt me, and there's an end on't. Where's the 
surgeon ? " 

The Duke, utterly amazed, first at his favourite's 
deceit, and now at this strange fighting with two 
knights, for which, truth to tell, he had scarce given 
his pretty page credit, was to have another and even 
greater surprise; for at that moment a young man, 
clad in green, with a plumed cap set on his dark 
curls, hurried towards the little crowd, and as Olivia 
bade her servants take away and attend to the two 
knights, he came towards her saying eagerly: 

" I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman ; 
but, indeed, had he been my brother, I could have 
done no less than defend myself. I see you look 
strangely at me, and I fear I have offended you. 
Pardon me, sweet, even for the vows we made each 
other but so late ago." 



TWELFTH NIGHT 123 

No words can describe the astonishment that could 
be seen on all faces. The Duke turned first to one 
seeming page, then to another. " One face, one 
voice, one habit, and two persons," he cried; while 
Antonio, pressing forward between the policemen, 
exclaimed : " Sebastian are you ? " 

Olivia, not knowing on which to gaze, cried: 
" Most wonderful ! " while Viola and Sebastian faced 
each other spellbound. 

It was Sebastian who first broke the strange si- 
lence. 

" Do I stand there ? " he asked, as though looking 
at himself in a mirror. " I never had a brother — 
I had a sister, whom the blind waves devoured. Of 
charity, what kin are you to me? what countryman, 
what name, what parentage? " 

Viola — the happy Viola — understood it better, 
but playing for a little longer her part she answered 
demurely : " Of Messaline. Sebastian was my fa- 
ther. Such a Sebastian was my brother, too; so he 
went suited to his watery grave." 

" W^ere you a woman," cried Sebastian, half won- 
dering, half hoping, as he gazed into the face of the 
one so like himself, " I should let my tears fall on 
your face and say : ' Thrice welcome, drowned Vi- 
ola.' " 

And then Cesario — now again Viola — with her 
arms round her beloved brother's neck, confessed to 
the disguise she had assumed, and told him how she 
had served the Duke and — she turned blushing to- 
wards Olivia — and visited this lady ! 



124 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Sebastian, still holding his recovered sister close 
to him, came towards Olivia. 

" So it comes, ladj, you have been mistook. Nor 
are you, by my life, deceived, for you are betrothed 
both to a maid and a man." 

And Olivia, drawn to them both, gave her hand 
again to Sebastian, and folding Viola in her arms, 
murmured : " A sister ! you are she." 

Then it was the Duke's turn ; he said he too must 
have share in this most happy wreck. 

" Boy," he said, turning Viola towards him. 
" Thou hast said to me a thousand times thou never 
shouldst love woman like to me." 

" And all those sayings will I over-swear, and all 
those swearings keep true," answered Viola, looking 
earnestly into his face. 

" Give me your hand. Your master quits you. 
You shall from this time be your master's mistress." 

So did all these turns and troubles meet with a 
most happy ending ; and some days later in the little 
chapel in Olivia's gardens, with much pomp and cir- 
cumstance, were celebrated two weddings, that of the 
Duke to Viola, and Sebastian to Olivia, and it would 
be difficult to tell which of the two couples was the 
happiest. But one thing is sure, no one felt or looked 
so important as the steward, Malvolio, in the full 
pomp of office, quite restored to his own and his 
lady's good graces; and certainly no one enjoyed 
the good things set forth for the wedding feast better 
than Sir Toby and his friend, Sir Andrew Ague- 
cheek. 



MACBETH 

CHAPTER I 

IN the olden days Scotland was the haunt, not only 
of the good fairies, but of witches and wizards. 
The latter had no power over those of good and true 
heart, as this tale will show ; but in those whose hearts 
were as evil soil they planted seeds which grew to ter- 
rible deeds of darkness. 

Macbeth and Banquo were two Generals in the 
army of Duncan, King of Scotland. Owing to their 
valour a great victory had been gained by the Scots 
just at the time this tale commences, and the Nor- 
wegian foe had been completely routed. 

Macbeth and Banquo, returning to the camp to re- 
ceive the welcome and thanks of the King, passed 
over a desolate moor. It was night — a wild, stormy 
night ; the wind swept whistling through the heather, 
the moon peered fitfully between dark masses of driv- 
ing storm-cloud. Suddenly they saw by the pale 
moonlight three weird grey forms standing before 
them. They seemed to have sprung out of the 
ground; their tattered garments streamed in the 
wind; piercing black eyes gleamed in their hollow, 
withered faces. Whether they were men or women 
it was hard to say, for straggling grey beards showed 

on their chins. 

125 



126 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" Speak, if you can," said Macbeth. " What are 
you? " 

" All hail, Macbeth ! " answered a croaking voice, 
as the grey forms stretched out their arms in greet- 
ing. " Hail to thee, Thane of Glamis ! " 

Macbeth listened in amaze. To know already that 
he was Thane of Glamis they must be witches, for 
his kinsman, Sinel, Lord of Glamis, had but just 
died, leaving him his heir. 

" All hail, Macbeth ! " croaked the second witch. 
" Hail to thee. Thane of Cawdor ! " 

And the third, like some screech-owl of the night, 
added triumphantly: 

'* All hail, Macbetji, thou shalt be King here- 
after!" 

" Cawdor ! " « King hereafter ! " The face of the 
General changed; he started violently, as though in 
fear. 

" Good sir, why do you start and seem to fear 
things that do sound so fair.? " laughed Banquo. 
Then he turned to the fantastic shapes still stand- 
ing in their path. " My noble partner you greet 
with great predictions," he said. " To me you speak 
not. If you can look into the seeds of time and say 
which grain will grow and which will not, speak then 
to me, who neither be^ nor fear your favours nor 
your hate." 

"Hail!" 

"Hail!" 

" Hail ! " repeated each witch in turn, now ad- 
dressing Banquo. 



MACBETH 127 

" Lesser than Macbeth and greater," said the first. 

" Not so happy, yet much happier," said the sec- 
ond. 

" Thou shalt get Kings, though thou be none," 
prophesied the third. 

" So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo ! " cried all 
three. 

Then, as they stretched out their bare arms as in 
farewell, Macbeth cried out eagerly: 

" Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more. By 
Sinel's death I know I am Thane of Glamis ; but how 
of Cawdor? The Thane of Cawdor lives, a prosper- 
ous gentleman ; and to be King stands not within the 
prospects of belief no more than to be Cawdor. Say 
from whence you owe this strange intelligence? Or 
why upon this blasted heath you stop our way with 
such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you." 

But even as he was speaking the witches vanished. 
Whether they melted into the grey mist rising from 
the soaking moor, or the earth swallowed them, it 
was impossible to say. 

*' The earth hath bubbles as the water has, and 
these are of them," cried Banquo, inclining to the 
latter idea. 

Macbeth declared: 

" They vanished into the air, and what seemed cor- 
poral melted as breath into the wind. Would they 
had stayed ! " he added regretfully. 

But Banquo began to doubt the evidence of his 
own senses. 

"Were such things here as we do speak about?" 



128 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

he cried in perplexity ; " or have we eaten on the in- 
sane root that takes the reason prisoner? " 

" Your children shall be kings," Macbeth reminded 
him. No doubt about those spoken words. 

"You shall be King," rejoined Banquo. 

" And Thane of Cawdor, too ; went it not so ? " 
said Macbeth eagerly. Already the witches' words 
had taken root. 

" To the self-same tune and words," agreed Ban- 
quo lightly. In liis soul the witches found no soil in 
which to sow bad seed. 

As they neared the camp two messengers came 
swiftly to meet them. . They were the Earls of Ross 
and Angus, sent by the King to bring the Generals 
quickly to his royal presence, there to receive high 
honours and the grateful thanks of their Sovereign. 

Macbeth was: specially singled out for reward. 
''And as an earnest of more to come," said Ross, 
" the King bade me call thee Thane of Cawdor." 

" The Thane of Cawdor lives ; why do you dress 
me in borrowed robes ? " asked Macbeth. 

Then Angus related how the Thane of Cawdor 
had been convicted of treason in siding with the Nor- 
wegian foe against his own country. His life and 
lands were therefore forfeit. 

Macbeth was greatly impressed by this news. 
Since the witches had proved right in two things, 
why not in everything? for, after all, he was a near 
kinsman of the King. He asked Banquo if he did 
not hope his children would one day be Kings. 

But Banquo warned him to pay no heed to the 



MACBETH 129 

witches ; " for oftentimes," said he, " the instruments 
of darkness, to win us to our harm, tell us truths, 
win us with honest trifles, to betray us in deepest con- 
sequences." And he warned Macbeth that if he let 
his mind dwell on the third promise of the witches it 
might enkindle him to aim at the crown. 

But Macbeth paid no heed to the warning of his 
friend. From this time he thought of nothing else 
night or day but of how he might contrive to make 
the witches' third prophecy come true. 

When the King, in rewarding all those who had 
served him, included also his brave eldest son, Mal- 
colm, and created him Prince of Cumberland, Macbeth 
was filled with jealousy and hatred, though he him- 
self had received ample rewards. 

To be first in all the kingdom; with nothing less 
could he be content now. Black thoughts and mur- 
derous wishes sprang from the evil seed in his heart. 
He feared to face his own thoughts, but he nursed 
them carefully instead of strangling them. He bade 
his eye wink at what he wished his hand to do. But 
his hand trembled at the thought of the deed. 

Macbeth's wife was made of more daring stuff. 
She was a woman who feared nothing and cared for 
nobody but her husband. Macbeth sent a letter 
telling her of his meeting with the witches and the 
marvellous things they foretold, and how right they 
had proved so far. " Lay it to thy heart, the great- 
ness that is promised thee, my dearest partner of my 
greatness," he wrote. 

Lady Macbeth knew full well from this letter that 



130 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

her husband not only desired, but intended to mur- 
der Duncan in order to make himself King. She re- 
solved to help him; and, since only by murder could 
he obtain the throne, she would fan up his flickering 
courage. For when once her mind was made up to 
a deed, however bad, she could not abide shilly-shally- 
ing. 

Not long after this, the King, to show honour to 
his favoured General, sent word that he was 
coming to pass the night in Macbeth's castle in In- 
verness. 

Lady Macbeth at once determined that now or 
never King Duncan must die. She knew that the 
Princes, Malcolm and Donalbain, were in turn their 
father's rightful heirs, but trusted that Macbeth was 
strong enough to set aside their claims, Duncan once 
out of the way. 

Macbeth at first made some feeble objections to 
his wife's plan of carrying out the murder that very 
night. It seemed, even to him, a base return for the 
noble King's trust and favour. Also to murder a 
guest beneath your own roof was a thing at which 
the lowest scoundrel might demur. But Lady Mac- 
beth knew full well that it was only with his tongue 
he objected, not with his heart. 

*' Art thou afraid to be the same in thine own act 
and valour as thou art in desire? " she asked him. 
" Would thou have that which thou esteemest the 
ornament of life, and live a coward in thine own 
esteem.? " 

But still Macbeth hesitated. His noble guest was 




Lady Macbeth. " Hie thee hither, 

That I may pour my spirits in thine ear ; 
And chastise with the valour of my tongue 
All that impedes thee — " 



MACBETH 131 

now beneath his roof, together with his two sons 
and his attendants, among them Banquo and his 
young son Fleance. 

" If we should fail " stammered Macbeth, 

" We fail," retorted his wife boldly. " But screw 
your courage to the sticking-place, and we'll not 
fail!" 

Then she went on to say how easily it could be 
done. The King, having had a long journey, would 
sleep soundly. The two chamberlains who kept 
guard always at his door should be drugged with 
wine, and after the murder, while they slept heav- 
ily, their daggers and Iheir garments should be 
stained with blood, so that the guilt should fall on 
them. 

To this Macbeth agreed, for it seemed a safe way 
of murdering. But he knew all the time that what 
he was about to do was a deed many a devil would 
have felt too mean. For this King he would murder 
was a good and gracious Sovereign ; he was his kins- 
man, and had shown himself his friend and benefac- 
tor. Macbeth's conscience made a craven of him. 
He who had fought bravely on the battlefield, and 
won great renown for valour, now quailed at every 
sound and started at a shadow. 

Lady Macbeth ordered a great banquet for the 
King and his suite, and all feasted and made merry 
till late that night. Duncan was delighted with the 
reception he received, and as a token of his pleasure 
gave a beautiful diamond ring to his " most kind 
hostess." 



132 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

At last the castle was wrapt in stillness, and most 
of its inhabitants in sleep. 

Only Macbeth and his wife watched and waited, 
like two terrible birds of prey making ready to 
pounce on their victim. 

Having drugged the chamberlains with wine so 
that they would sleep through anything. Lady Mac- 
beth laid their daggers ready for her husband's use, 
and set the doors of the King's chamber ajar. She 
had at first intended to stab the sleeping King her- 
self, but, gazing for a moment on the calm old face, 
she noted a strong likeness to her own father, and 
withheld her hand. She determined to leave the deed 
to her husband. 

Meanwhile Macbeth, waiting for his wife to ring 
her bell when all should be ready, suddenly thought 
he saw a Sagger hanging in the air before him. The 
handle was pointed towards him, and it seemed to 
invite him to take it. As he gazed at it in terror, 
uncertain whether it was real or a vision, he noticed 
drops of blood falling from it. He tried to clutch 
the handle, and his hand touched nothing. It was 
a dagger of his overwrought mind, he then knew; 
but still he would not be warned and renounce the 
foul deed, though he should lose his senses, his honour, 
his friends, and be obliged to wade in blood; for he 
was determined to mount the throne. 

A little bell tinkled. Macbeth pulled himself 
together. 

" I go," he muttered between his teeth. " It is 
done; the bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan, for 



MACBETH 133 

it Is a knell that summons thee to heaven or to hell." 
But he knew it was not Duncan who was bound for 
hell. 

The night was dark and wild. A storm swept over 
the plain ; the owls screeched. Chimneys were blown 
off housetops. Strange sounds, like lamentations, 
rent the air. Even the bold Lady Macbeth started 
and quaked as she listened for her husband's re- 
turn. Presently he entered swiftly, his hands cov- 
ered with blood, and carrying with him two gory 
daggers. 

" I have done the deed," he gasped. " Didst thou 
not hear a noise ? " 

^' I heard the owls scream and the crickets cry," 
she answered. " Did not you speak.'' " 

"When?" he asked nervously, then started, say- 
ing : " Hark ! Who lies in the second chamber ? " 

" Donalbain," answered Lady Macbeth. She had 
seen to it that the massive door of that room was 
firmly closed. 

" This is a sorry sight," cried Macbeth, with a 
shudder, as he looked at his blood-stained hands. 
Then he told her how the attendants had suddenly 
stirred In their sleep, and one had laughed and the 
other cried " Murder ! " but they had turned over 
again, muttering a prayer of ^' God bless us." Mac- 
beth would like to have said " Amen," but it stuck 
In his throat. This disturbed him, for he fain would 
have had God's blessing even with the red dagger In 
his hand, and made God wink at what the day would 
bring to light. 



134 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Lady Macbeth had no understanding for this kind 
of humbug. 

" These deeds must not be thought after these 
ways," she said impatiently. " So, it will make us 
mad." 

But Macbeth went on, with eyes as though gazing 
still on the horror he had worked. 

" Methought I heard a voice cry : ' Sleep no 
more. . . . Macbeth does murder sleep — the in- 
nocent sleep. . . . Glamis hath murdered sleep, 
and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no more — Macbeth 
shall sleep no more.' " 

"Who was it that thus cried.? " she reasoned with 
Jiim. " Why, worthy thane, you do unbend your 
noble strength to think so brainsickly of things. Go, 
get some water and wash this filthy witness from 
your hand." 

She took up the daggers he had laid down. 

" Why did you bring these daggers from the 
place ? " she asked, " They must lie there ; go carry 
them, an(i smear the grooms with blood." 

But Macbeth cried aif righted: 

" I'll go no more. I am afraid to think what I 
have done. Look on't again I dare not." 

" Infirm of purpose ! " said his wife scornfully. 
" Give me the daggers." 

She realized how easily everything might fail if 
left to Macbeth in this terror-struck mood. The 
guilt must be made to fall on the attendants, and the 
real criminals must play a part. It was a dangerous 
game, this game of murder, and required coolness and 



MACBETH 135 

nerve; for there would be the two sons of Duncan, 
besides his loyal friends, to deal with. 

While they were speaking, they heard loud ham- 
mering at the south entry of the castle. Already 
the cold, grey dawn had come, and with it MacdufF 
and Lennox, two of Duncan's chieftains, whom he 
had bade call betimes on him in the morning. 

They inquired of the sleepy porter for Macbeth; 
and when he appeared in the night clothes he had 
hastily put on, he led MacdufF to the door of the 
King's chamber, and then returned to Lennox. 

Shortly after, MacdufF rushed back, shouting dis- 
tractedly : 

" O horror, horror, horror ! Tongue nor heart 
cannot conceive nor name thee ! " 

" What's the matter .? " cried Macbeth and Len- 
nox in one breath. 

MacdufF, almost incoherent with horror and grief, 
bade them go to the King's chamber and behold for 
themselves the sacrilegious murder of the Lord's 
anointed. 

Soon all the castle was roused. Malcolm, Donal- 
bain, and Banquo came rushing together at the sound 
of the great bell MacdufF ordered should be rung. 
Lady Macbeth, too, was obliged to come forward 
and act her part by pretending amazement and 
horror. 

The question was now. Who were the murderers? 
Lennox assured Malcolm that the crime had been 
committed by the drunken chamberlains, whose hands 
and garments bore bloody witness to the fact. Had 



136 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

he not seen with his own eyes how dazed and dis- 
tracted they looked when Macbeth rushed on them 
furiously and despatched them with his knife? It 
was a false move, this hasty murder of the two 
grooms, and one of which Lady Macbeth would never 
have been guilty, for instantly it aroused suspicion. 

"Wherefore did you so?" demanded Macduff, 
while Malcolm and Donalbain kept a dark silence, 
which was not lost on Lady Macbeth, as her husband 
replied : 

" Who can be wise, amazed, temperate, and loyal 
and neutral in a moment? No man. . . . Here lay 
Duncan, his silver skin laced with his golden 
blood , . . there the murderers steeped in the 
colours of their trade. . . . Who could refrain that 
had a heart to love, and in that heart courage to 
make love known? " 

The speech rang false to more ears than one. 
Lady Macbeth cried suddenly : " Help me hence, 
ho' ! '* She reeled as though she would have fainted, 
and they bore her away to her own chamber. 

The chiefsy meanwhile, agreed to call a meeting at 
once in the hall and discuss what steps must next be 
taken. The two sons of the murdered King felt this 
grim castle was no safe place for them ; that there 
was foul treachery they were convinced, yet dare not 
speak their thoughts. Quickly they agreed to fly 
for their lives, without leave-taking — Malcolm to 
England and Donalbain to Ireland, since apart they 
might the more easily evade pursuit. 

Directly their flight was discovered, Macbeth 



MACBETH 137 

caused it to be reported that it was they who had 
bribed the attendants to murder their father, and 
then, affrighted at their own deed, had fled. There 
were those who doubted this preposterous tale — • 
Macduff and Banquo among them. But when Mac- 
beth, as next of kin, put himself forward for the 
sovereignty, he was received by the people of Scot- 
land with acclamations. 

On the ancient stone at Scone, Macbeth, the mur- 
derer, was crowned King of Scotland, and the people 
shouted : " Long live the King 1 Long live Mac- 
beth!" 

The witches' prophecy 'had come true. Macbeth's 
highest ambition, the incredible giddy height, had 
been reached. But the price was not paid yet; if 
he would,, sit with any security on the throne he 
had waded in blood to reach, he must wade still 
deeper. 

Banquo was the one he feared most, for Banquo 
had " a royalty of nature, a dauntless temper, and 
wisdom to guide his valour," which made Macbeth 
feel afraid of him. Besides, had not the witches dis- 
tinctly said that Banquo, though lesser, was greater ; 
though in one sense not so happy, was yet much 
happier; and though not a King himself, should be 
the father of Kings? 

That Banquo was greater, as a giant is greater 
than a dwarf, Macbeth knew in his craven, distorted 
soul. That he was far happier with his stainless 
shield and noble record, beloved and trusted by all 
who knew him, Macbeth had but to look in his face 



138 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

to read. If the third prophecy should come true 
for Banquo, then not Macbeth's own sons, but Ban- 
quo's, would reap the fruits of all his plots and 
crimes. It was too bitter a thought to be endured, 
and Macbeth resolved to make sure this prophecy 
should not come true by murdering both Banquo and 
his son Fleance without delay. 

For this purpose he hired two scoundrels accus- 
tomed to such dark night jobs, and bade them lay 
in wait for the man he feared and his young son. 
It was the evening of a great banquet Macbeth was 
giving to commemorate his coronation, and Banquo 
had been invited as chief and most honoured guest. 
The murderers were directed to hide in the park 
near the road leading up to the castle, which Banquo 
and his son must pass. 

Lady Macbeth's great wish was fulfilled. Mac- 
beth was King and she herself a Queen. But what 
was the good of this when all her happiness had 
fled? Not for a day nor an hour could she get peace 
from the haunting thought of that foul murder by 
which this goal had been reached. And the nights 
were worse than the days ; for with sleep came hideous 
visions and terrible dreams, that shook the guilty 
pair till they felt it would be better far to be with 
those they had destroyed than endure such torture 
of the mind. When alone. Lady Macbeth confessed 
this to herself. She recognized that, having sac- 
rificed all that made life worth living, she had gained 
nought, and she envied King Duncan, safe where no 
evil could torment him — safe from treason, steel. 



MACBETH 139 

and poison. But with her husband Lady Macbeth 
disguised her real feelings in order to give him 
courage, and restore, if possible, his peace of mind. 
She urged him to banish his sorry thoughts, saying: 
" Things without all remedy should be without re- 
gard. What's done is done." 

But Macbeth's mind was not alone filled with the 
past, as was that of his wife. He did not tell her 
how he had plotted the murder of Banquo and his 
son ; but he hinted that there was a deed of darkness 
to be done, which he doubted not she would applaud 
when accomplished. He told her, too, that his mind 
was full of scorpions Vhile Banquo and his son 
Fleance lived, and his wife could guess the rest. 
That first horrible deed had poisoned all his nature, 
changing a brave soldier into a suspicious, craven 
coward, and driving him now from one murder to 
another out of sheer fear. He was like a man slip- 
ping down a precipice — no hand, not even that 
of his guilty and remorseful wife, could stop him 
now. 

The feast was spread, the guests assembled, and 
were bade a hearty welcome by Macbeth and his lady. 
Just as they were taking their places, Macbeth was 
called aside by a messenger. At the door he was 
faced by an evil man with blood upon his hands and 
face. It was one of the murderers come to tell him 
that his friend Banquo lay " safe in a ditch with 
twenty trenched gashes on his head," the least of 
which was enough to kill him. 

" Thou art the best of cut-throats," said Macbeth 



140 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

in low, hurried tones. " Yet he is good that did the 
like for Fleance. If thou didst it, thou art the non- 
pareil." 

" Most rojal sir," answered the cut-throat gloom- 
ily, " Fleance escaped." 

Macbeth ground his teeth with rage and disap- 
pointment. So, after all, he was not secure, but still 
a prey to doubts and fears. He dismissed the mur- 
derer, and returned to his guests now seated round 
the table. Lady Macbeth calling on him to give the 
opening ceremony. 

" May good digestion wait on appetite and health 
on both," said Macbeth. 

He looked round* on the numerous assembly, and 
remarked that it was unkind in Banquo to be absent 
on such an occasion. 

*' His absence, sir," said one of the lords, " lays 
blame upon his promise. May it please your High- 
ness to grace us with your royal company." 

Macbeth looked round the table, but saw no va- 
cant chair. 

" The table's full," he said. 

" Here's a place reserved, sir," cried Lennox, 
pointing to an empty seat. 

Macbeth looked and started. His eyes became 
fixed in horror; for there, in the chair reserved for 
himself, he beheld Banquo, his head all gashed, his 
throat cut, his eyes turned on him as though they 
would pierce his very soul. 

" Which of you have done this ? " gasped Macbeth, 
staggering and clutching the back of a chair. 



MACBETH 141 

" What, my good lord? " questioned a dozen voices 
anxiously. 

" Thou canst not say I did it ; never shake thy 
gory locks at me ! " stammered Macbeth, his gaze 
riveted on what appeared to everyone an empty seat. 

" Gentlemen, rise," cried the Thane of Ross. 
'' His Highness is not well." 

But Lady Macbeth had risen and had gone to her 
husband's side. 

" Sit, worthy friends," she said. " My lord is 
often thus, and hath been from his youth. Pray 
you, keep seat ; the fit is momentary ; upon a thought 
he will again be well. If much you note him, you 
shall offend him. . . , Feed and regard him not." 

While the guests reseated themselves, and, obeying 
her, set to on the banquet. Lady Macbeth turned 
to her husband: 

"Are you a man?" she said sternly. 

" Ay, and a bold one that dare look on that which 
might appal a devil," he replied in an awestruck 
undertone. 

"O proper stuff!" said Lady Macbeth. "This 
is the very painting of your fear. This is the air- 
drawn dagger which you said led you to Duncan. 
Shame ! when all's done, you look but on a stool." 

She tried to lead him to sit down in the place that 
appeared to her still to be vacant. 

But he refused to move. Pointing at the figure 
he saw so plainly, he cried excitedly: 

"Prithee, see there 1 Behold! Look! Lo, how 
say you? " 



142 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

The ghost of Banquo, still fixing him with his gaze, 
nodded slowlj. 

" If thou canst nod, speak too ! " cried Macbeth. 

But suddenly the ghost vanished ; the place where 
he had been was empty. 

" As I stand here, I saw it," stammered the dazed, 
bewildered man. 

" Fie, for shame ! " said his wife, still trying to 
bring him to himself. 

*' The time was, when murders were performed, 
the man would die and there an end, but now they 
rise again with twenty mortal murders on their 
crowns and push us from our stools. This is more 
strange than such a murder is," said Macbeth. 

'' My worthy lord, your noble friends do lack 
you," insisted his wife, still urging him towards the 
table. 

Macbeth pulled himself together. He sat down, 
begging his guests to excuse his strange infirmity, 
which, he assured them, was nothing to those who 
knew him. 

" Give me some wine," he called. " Fill full. I 
drink to the general joy of the whole table, and to 
our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss. Would he 
were here ! To all and him ! " he cried, lifting his 
goblet, while the guests echoed the pledge and drank 
with him. 

But before the cup had left his lips his daring 
wish was, to his unspeakable horror, fulfilled, and 
Banquo again stood confronting him. Pale as a 



MACBETH 143 

corpse, and gashed with streaming wounds, only the 
eyes lived and glared at Macbeth fixedly. 

*' Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! Let the earth hide 
thee ! " yelled Macbeth, beside himself with terror. 

In vain Lady Macbeth again tried to pacify the 
disturbed guests. Macbeth was not to be silenced. 
Louder and louder he called upon the unseen ap- 
parition to take any shape but that — a savage bear, 
a tiger, or even himself alive and well. He would 
meet him with firm nerves and his good sword, but 
this horrible shadow, this unreal mockery, was too 
much for him. And as he yelled " Hence ! " the 
ghost once more vanished^ and Macbeth sat back in 
his chair with a sigh of relief. 

" I am a man again," he said to his wife. 

But Lady Macbeth, deeply disturbed by this sec- 
ond outburst, answered gloomily : 

" You have displaced the mirth, broke the good 
meeting with disorder." 

" How can you behold such sights and keep the 
natural colour of your cheeks when mine is blanched 
with fear? " asked Macbeth, looking round at the 
indifferent faces of the company, whose only wonder 
and concern was his own strange behaviour. 

" What sights, my lord ? " inquired the Thane of 
Ross. 

But Lady Macbeth, fearful what the answer might 
be, interrupted hurriedly: 

" I pray you speak not ; he grows worse and 
worse; question enrages him." 



144 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

She rose and turned to the guests, saying: 

" Good-night. Stand not upon the order of your 
going, but go at once. A kind good-night to all." 

So the banquet broke up amid great confusion and 
amazement, and many shook their heads over this 
strange malady of the new King. 

When they learnt next day of the murder of Ban- 
quo and the flight of his son Fleance, they wondered 
less, and grave suspicion filled the minds of most 
men. 

CHAPTER II 

The next man whom Macbeth determined to re- 
move from his path was Macduff, Thane of Fife. 
At the coronation banquet to which he had been 
bidden, Macduff had been absent, making excuse that 
he had gone to Fife. That he should deny his pres- 
ence on such a great occasion filled the usurper with 
fear and wrath. He had paid spies in the house of 
every thane of importance, and forthwith sent to find 
out the true reason of Macduff's absence. 

Lady Macbeth watched her husband with growing 
anxiety. He became ever more moody and strange, 
seeking constantly to be alone. The terrible secrets 
they shared chained yet divided them, for between 
them always stood the murdered forms of their vic- 
tims, so that even their love for each other could no 
longer give them any happiness. She feared for his 
reason, and urged him to take more repose and sleep. 
But Macbeth had murdered sleep, that sweet restorer, 
and never more for either of them was any sleep 



MACBETH • 145 

possible save that of nightmare. She, who, to win 
a crown for her husband, had aided and abetted in 
the foul murder of the good old King, could not now 
stop the awful consequences. Macbeth had acquired 
the habit of murder, and she was powerless to stop 
him. Fear of losing his ill-gotten crown drove him 
from one murder to another. 

" Blood will have blood," he told his wife. 

To insure his own safety he would stick at noth- 
ing; for, having gone so far, it was impossible to 
turn back. 

He determined to seek out the witches and hear 
from them what fate lay b'efore him. He desired to 
know the worst, whatever it might be, even though 
he feared to know it. 

In a dark cavern in the mountain-side, the three 
witches were met together round a boiling cauldron. 
Their queen Hecate had summoned them, this being 
a very important occasion. She was even more 
hideous than the three witches, with her nose like the 
beak of a hawk, her eyes like sharp points of steel 
in the gloom of the cave. The sound of her voice in 
wrath was the one thing which could cause the 
witches toi tremble. She was angry now, having 
learnt that the three sisters had dared to meddle with 
the affairs of Scotland without first consulting her. 
Small things, like wrecking a boat, killing swine, or 
blighting a cornfield, they might contrive by them- 
selves ; but when it came to trafficking with Kings 
and trading in the affairs of a kingdom, which re- 
quired the use of potent spells and charms, of which 



146 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Hecate alone was the mistress, she naturally expected 
to be consulted. She rated them soundly. 

" Beldames that you are ! Saucy and overbold ! " 
she cried. Then bade them make ready a potent 
brew of spells and charms, for that very night Mac- 
beth would seek them to know further of his destiny. 

Into the cauldron the witches threw the tooth of 
a wolf, a lizard's leg, the toe of a frog, the eye of 
a newt, an adder's fork, a blind-worm's sting, the 
scale of a dragon, an owlet's wing, the wool of a bat, 
the tongue of a dog, and many other choice morsels. 
Round and round they stirred the mixture into a 
thick gruel, singing as they did so in croaking tones : 

" Double^ double toil and trouble ; 
Fire burn^ and cauldron bubble ! " 

When the spell was well cooked in the charmed 
pot, Hecate threw in a vaporous drop she had caught 
as it hung upon the corner of the new moon. This, 
distilled, would raise such magic sprites as would 
draw Macbeth on to his confusion and ruin, for 
Hecate highly disapproved of Macbeth. Witch 
though she was, she had her code of honour and 
justice ; he had shown he had none. 

All at once one of the witches cried: 

" By the pricking of my thumbs 
Something wicked this way comes." 

They stopped their dance round the cauldron and 
listened. There was a low knocking outside the 
cavern. 



MACBETH 147 

** Open locks 
Whoever knocks,'* 

cried the witches, and Macbeth entered, muffled in 
a long, dark cloak, which half hid his face. 

" How now, you secret, black, and midnight 
hags!" he said uneasily. "What is't you do? " 

" A deed without a name," answered all the witches 
together. 

" I conjure you," said Macbeth, " by that which 
you profess, howe'er you come to know it, answer 
me to what I ask." 

" Speak," said the first witch. 

" Demand," said the second. 

" We'll answer," promised the third. 

" Say if thou wouldst rather hear it from our 
lips than from our masters ? " inquired the first witch. 

" Call 'em — let me see 'em," said Macbeth. 

Then slowly up out of the smoking cauldron came 
a huge head, with a helmet and visor up. He fixed 
Macbeth with his piercing gaze. 

" Tell me, thou unknown power," began Macbeth ; 
but the first witch silenced him, saying: 

" He knows thy thought ; hear his speech, but say 
thou nought." 

Then the armed head spoke in deep, solemn tones. 

" Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! beware MacdufF ; 
beware the Thane of Fife ! " 

With that he disappeared into the cauldron be- 
fore Macbeth could ask him anything more, though 
he greatly desired to do so. 



148 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" He will not be commanded," said the witch. 
" But here's another, more powerful than the 
first." 

And even as she spoke, Macbeth saw something 
else coming out of the cauldron. This time it was 
a boy, all covered with blood, as though he had been 
fighting; and the blood was not his own, but that of 
another. He cried in a high, screaming voice : 

"Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! be bloody, bold, 
and resolute ; laugh to scorn the power of man ! " 

With these words he descended into the magic pot 
and vanished. 

Macbeth had hardly recovered from his glad sur- 
prise at hearing these words, which, like those of the 
first apparition, exactly fitted in with his own evil 
wishes, when a third head rose from the cauldron. 
This time it was that of a fair young child, on his 
brow a kingly crown, and in his hand the branch of 
a tree, 

" What is this that wears upon his baby brow the 
round and top of sovereignty? " cried Macbeth. 

" Listen," replied the witches, " but speak not 
to it." 

Then the child spoke, but in no child's voice, and 
the heart of Macbeth beat fast as he listened; for 
this is what he said: 

" Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care who 
frets, or where conspirers are; Macbeth shall never 
vanquished be until great Birnam wood to high 
Dunsinane hill shall come against him." 

" That will never be ! " cried Macbeth trium- 



MACBETH 149 

phantly. " Who can impress the forest, bid the 
tree unfix his earth-bound root? " 

Of course the thing was absurd, he argued, and 
merely meant that he was safe till all the laws of 
Nature were turned upside down. 

" Yet my heart throbs to know one thing," he 
asked anxiously of the witches, as the child disap- 
peared. " Tell me, if your art can tell so much, 
shall Banquo's issue ever reign in this kingdom?" 

The witches replied, with warning fingers up- 
held: 

" Seek to know no more." 

This made Macbeth but the more determined to 
have his question answered. 

" I will be satisfied," he insisted angrily. " Deny 
me this, and an eternal curse fall upon you ! " 

Then the witches, slowly moving round the caul- 
dron, cried each in turn: 

" Show ! " 

"Show!" 

"Show!" 

And in chorus they chanted dismally: 

*' Show his eyes and grieve his heart, 
Come like shadows^ so depart." 

Slowly uprose a long procession of kingly figures, 
eight in number, wearing crowns and bearing 
sceptres, followed at last by one who sent a thrill of 
horror and rage through the heart of Macbeth, for 
he bore the likeness of the murdered Banquo. Mac- 
beth noted that some of the forms carried treble 



150 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

sceptres, signifying they should reign over three 
countries, and that the last one bore in his hand a 
glass in which was reflected another procession of 
Sovereigns. 

" What ! will the line stretch out to the crack of 
doom? " cried Macbeth, beside himself with fury. 
" Horrible sight ! Filthy hags ! " he shouted to the 
witches. " I'll see no more ! " 

Yet he could not turn away from the sight even 
if he would, and when the ghost of Banquo pointed 
at the long line of kings his heart sank and he 
gasped : 

" Now I see, 'tis true ; for the blood-boltered Ban- 
quo smiles upon me, and points at them for 
his. ... Is this so? " he turned savagely on the 
witches. 

And the first witch answered in a voice like the 
raven's croak: 

" Ay, sir, all this is so ; but why stands Macbeth 
thus amazedly ? " She turned to the others with a 
laugh, and sang: 

** Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites, 
And show the best of our delights. 
I'll charm the air to give a sound. 
While you perform your antic round; 
That this great King may kindly say 
Our duties did his welcome pay.'* 

As the weird sisters and their queen danced round 
and round the cauldron, their grey floating garments 
became more and more smoke-like, and then in an 



MACBETH 151 

instant they seemed to melt into the air and were 
gone, leaving Macbeth alone in the dark cave. 



Though he loathed and cursed the witches, Mac- 
beth lost no time in acting on the warning they had 
given him ; for fear and hate of MacdufF had already 
taken deep root in his heart. That Macduff had 
failed to appear at the banquet was quite sufficient 
to seal his doom, even had the witches been silent on 
this point. But the great power of the weird sisters 
lay in the fact that they could read an evil heart like 
an open book. This gift makes prophesying an 
easy business. 

But MacdufF, the Thane of Fife, had already fled 
to England, there to join Malcolm, the son of Dun- 
can, and raise an army to deliver Scotland from the 
usurper who was bringing ruin on the country. 

Great was the wrath of Macbeth on learning that 
his prey had escaped him. In a spirit of cruel 
vengeance he set out there and then to seize Mac- 
duff's castle and put to the sword his wife and chil- 
dren and all who were of any kin to him. 

Lady Macduff bitterly resented this action of her 
husband in fleeing to England, without even a fare- 
well word or thought of the danger in which he was 
leaving his family. 

" Even the poor little wren," she said to the Thane 
of Ross, who tried to excuse Macduff, " the smallest 
of birds, her young ones in the nest, will stay and 
fight the owl. . . . Yet he has left his wife, his 



152 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

babes, and his home in a place from whence himself 
must fly." 

To her it appeared as though MacdufF could have 
no real love for either her or his children, so to leave 
them to the tender mercies of the murdering tyrant, 
Macbeth. But the real fact was that Macduff, 
though he loved his wife and babes as well as the 
brave little wren, had not half the bird's sense or 
imagination. He was a well-meaning but stupid 
man, with only room in his slow brain for one idea 
at a time. Macbeth was the curse of his unhappy 
country; therefore Macduff^ must rid the land of 
him, and that without even so much delay as to take 
farewell of the wife he loved. The best means of 
defeating the tyrant was to join Malcolm and engage 
the help of England. So to England he fled, fast 
as his horse could carry him. That by so doing, 
and leaving his family thus unprotected, he was de- 
liberately flinging them to the wolf, never struck this 
poor, slow-witted Scot till the mischief was done. 

He learnt of the terrible tragedy from his cousin, 
the Thane of Ross, who fled to England to break the 
awful news that all those MacdufF held dear on earth 
had been slaughtered by Macbeth. 

Poor MacdufF was stunned at first by the cruel 
blow. He could not believe in such atrocious vil- 
lainy. Then, too late, he bitterly reproached him- 
self as the cause of their murder. 

" Sinful MacdufF ! " he cried, heart-broken ; '' they 
were all struck for thee ; . . . not for their own de- 
merits, but for mine fell slaughter on their souls. 



MACBETH 153 

Oh, I could play the woman with mine eyes ! but," 
he continued, rousing himself from his grief and cut- 
ting short his bitter plaint, " front to front bring 
thou this fiend of Scotland and myself. Within my 
sword's length set him ; if he 'scape, Heaven forgive 
him too ! " 

Gladly Malcolm joined him in this heart's cry for 
a just vengeance. Together they went to the King 
of England, who promised them ten thousand war- 
like men to march to Scotland under Siward, Earl 
of Northumberland, and General of the English 
forces. 



CHAPTER III 

Lady Macbeth had believed that the first treach- 
erous murder would bring them both not only 
glory and power, but the height of happiness. She 
quickly found out her mistake. No sooner was 
Macbeth crowned King, even before the coronation 
banquet had taken place, she bitterly confessed to 
herself that having " spent all," " naught was 
gained," and that it would be better far to be the 
victim they had murdered than to dwell in such 
" doubtful joy." Gladly she would now have turned 
Macbeth's energies into sane and useful directions, 
and seen him become a kingly ruler ; but having 
helped him to start on this downward course, she 
was powerless to stop him. Remorse and horror so 
filled her mind that at last her brain gave way under 



154 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

the terrible strain. Even in sleep she could get no 
rest, no respite from the vision of Macbeth's mur- 
ders, and the blood on her own soul she saw in fancy 
staining her white hands. 

At night she would rise continually in her sleep 
and walk about her apartments, speaking to herself 
of things she dare not whisper in her waking hours, 
rubbing her hands as though trying to wash out' 
ugly stains. 

While Macbeth was away with his army he bade a 
trusty lady-in-waiting take care of his wife, and 
nurse her in her sickness. This lady, alarmed at 
the strange things her mistress said and did at night, 
called in a doctor to see if he could find out the cause 
of the Queen's illness, and perchance cure her com- 
plaint. Two nights the doctor sat up and watched ; 
but the Queen, though she was restless and sleepless, 
did nothing strange. He began to doubt what the 
lady-in-waiting reported, when, on the third night, 
just as the two were talking in low tones together 
about her, Lady Macbeth suddenly rose from her 
bed, and, taking the lighted taper which always stood 
by her bedside — for she dreaded the dark — she 
walked past the two watchers. Her eyes were wide 
open, but the doctor saw at once their sense was shut. 

Placing the light on a table, she began then to 
rub her hands and speak to herself. They listened 
attentively. 

" Out, damned spot ! out, I say." She rubbed her 
hands desperately. " One — two ! Why, then, 'tis 
time to do't. Hell is murky! Fie, my lord, fie! a 



MACBETH 155 

soldier, and afraid? What need we fear who know 
it when none can call our power to account? Yet 
who would have thought the old man had so much 
blood in him? " 

''Do you mark that?" said the doctor, with a 
shudder. 

The lady nodded ; she had heard such words before 
from the unhappy Queen. 

" The Thane of Fife had a wife ; where is she 
now ? " went on the sleep-walker. " What, will these 
hands ne'er be clean ? . . ." She looked at her white 
hands with horror. " Here's the smell of blood still. 
All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little 
hand. Oh, oh, oh ! " she moaned. 

" What a sigh is there ! " said the doctor, shaking 
his head. '* The heart is sore charged." 

" I would not have such a heart in my bosom," 
said the lady-in-waiting, " for the dignity of my 
whole body." 

" This disease is beyond my practice," confessed 
the doctor, who was an honest man. 

Then again Lady Macbeth spoke, and this time 
she revealed that Banquo also was a victim ; for she 
spoke these tell-tale words : 

" I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried. He can- 
not come out of his grave." 

The doctor and nurse looked at one another. So 
the whispered suspicions were true, then ! Banquo, 
the noble, brave soldier, once the friend of Macbeth, 
had been murdered by this bloodthirsty tyrant's 
orders. 



156 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

The doctor rose to go. 

" More needs she the divine than the physician," 
he said to the lady-in-waiting. " Look after 
her. . . . Good-night. I think, but dare not 
speak." 

Still the doctor felt it his duty to tell Macbeth 
somewhat of the truth. When the King inquired 
anxiously, "How does your patient, doctor?" he 
replied : 

" Not so sick, my lord, as she is troubled with 
thick-coming fancies, that keep her from her rest." 

*^ Ctire her of that," answered Macbeth impa- 
tiently. " Canst thou not minister to a mind dis- 
eased, pluck from the memory a rooted sor- 
row, . , . cleanse the bosom of that perilous stuff 
which weighs upon the heart? " 

The old doctor shook his head as he answered 
cautiously : 

" Therein the patient must minister to himself." 

" Throw physic to the dogs ! " Macbeth flung at 
him angrily. " I'll none of it. If thou couldst, doc- 
tor " — he turned to him again, for his wife was the 
one person on earth for whom he cared — -" find her 
disease and purge it to a sound and pristine health, 
I would applaud thee to the very echo that should 
applaud again. Pull it oif, I say." 

But when he was alone Macbeth felt almost as 
wretched as his wife. To himself he confessed he 
was sick of life. Nothing to look forward to in 
future years, not a friend on earth, not a soul to 
love or respect him ; but, in their stead, " curses, not 



MACBETH 157 

loud but deep ; mouth-honour, breath, which the poor 
heart would fain deny, and dare not." 

This was all he had reaped for the murders he had 
sown. A barren crop of kingly honours indeed ! 

The doctor had bade the lady-in-waiting watch 
the Queen, but this was no easy matter. She real- 
ized that the words the Queen spoke must be heard 
by no one lest dire trouble come of it ; to keep her in 
sight day and night, and humour her waking and 
sleeping, became more and more difficult. For the 
wretched Queen got worse instead of better. The 
gnawing of her conscience became intolerable, and 
the visions of the murdered victims drove her at last 
to such despair that she could bear it no longer. 
Watching her opportunity, one night she took her 
own life. 

When her dead body was discovered by her ladies, 
a terrible cry arose from the Queen's apartments. 
Macbeth, busy with preparations for a siege of the 
castle, started and listened. 

"What is that noise.?" he asked of Seyton, one 
of his officers. 

Seyton hurried away to inquire. Macbeth felt 
a presentiment of evil, but he was accustomed to this ; 
he muttered to himself: 

" I have almost forgot the taste of fears. The 
time has been, my senses would have cool'd to hear 
a night-shriek. I have supp'd full with horrors. 
Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts, can- 
not once start me." 

But he was uneasy, and the face of Seyton made 



158 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

him more so when he presently returned, breathless 
and pale. 

" Wherefore was that noise? " demanded Macbeth. 

" The Queen, my lord, is dead," replied Seyton. 

Macbeth had now lost all save his ill-gotten crown 
and his worthless life. More than ever, now that his 
wife was gone, he felt the vanity of all he had lived 
for. 

" Out, out, brief candle ! " he cried, in the bitter- 
ness of his soul. "Life's but a walking shadow, a 
poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the 
stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told 
by an idiot, full of sound and furyj signifying 
nothing." 

This is all his life and that of his wretched wife 
seemed to be. Macbeth forgot that neither of evil 
deeds nor good ones can it be said they are heard 
no more. " The consequences of both go on and on 
like the ripples round a stone cast into a pond." 

But Macbeth had little time for mourning or 
moralizing. News came that the avenging army, 
under Malcolm, his uncle and Siward, Earl of Nor- 
thumberland, was marching across the plain towards 
Dunsinane — a vast army, said the breathless mes- 
sengers, ten thousand strong. 

Macbeth, remembering how the witches had fore- 
told that never should he be defeated till Bimam 
wood removed to Dunsinane, treated the news with 
proud contempt. 

" Our castle's strength," he cried, " will laugh a 



MACBETH 159 

siege to scorn. Here let them lie till famine and 
the ague eat them up." 

But presently another panting messenger entered, 
crying in dismay that, as he stood keeping his watch 
upon the hill, behold he looked towards Birnam, and 
lo! the wood began to move! 

" Liar and slave ! " roared Macbeth. 

But the soldier stuck to his tale. 

" Let me endure your wrath if 't be not so," he 
persisted!. " Within this three mile you may see 
it coming; I say, a moving grove." 

" If thou speakest false," cried the tyrant, " upon 
the next tree shalt thou hang alive till famine cling 
thee. If thy speech be sooth, I care not if thou 
dost for me as much." 

The witches had said, " Fear not till Birnam's 
wood do come to Dunsinane." And now a wood was 
coming, if this knave indeed spoke true. 

" Arm, arm, and out ! " shouted Macbeth to his 
followers. " If this which he avouches does appear, 
there is nor flying hence nor tarrying here." 

Macbeth hastily armed as he marshalled his men; 
for though he felt, as he said, " aweary of the sun," 
and wished the world were come to an end, yet he 
would fain die with harness on his back. 

What the sentinel had said was true. For, as the 
army of Malcolm marched through Birnam forest, 
Malcolm had commanded every man to cut down a 
bough and bear it aloft, thus disguising the number 
of his men and making them appear far more than 
they really were. 



160 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Out into the darkness dashed Macbeth. The 
alarm bells of the castle pealed forth into the night, 
summoning all his followers to fight, and soon came 
the noise of clashing weapons, shouts, and groans 
from all parts of the plain. But Malcolm's army 
marched on victorious, and many of Macbeth's fol- 
lowers joined it, only too glad to welcome back the 
son of their good King Duncan. 

Meanwhile Macbeth, after killing in single combat 
the brave young son of Siward, Earl of Northumber- 
land, who fell cursing him for an " abhorred tyrant," 
suddenly found himself face to face with MacdufF. 
In vain he would have turned back ; MacdufF pursued 
him. 

" Turn, hell-hound, turn ! " he cried. 

" Of all men," muttered Macbeth, " I have 
avoided thee. . . . My soul is too much charged 
with blood of thine already." 

Macduff drew his sword. 

" I have no words," he answered. " My voice is 
in my sword, thou bloodier villain than terms can 
give thee out ! " 

So they fought, an3 a desperate fight it was, 
MacdufF avenging the brutal murder of his wife and 
children, Macbeth resolved to die hard if die he must, 
and win as many gashes as possible for his bloody 
sword. 

But his hour had struck. MacdufF's arm, strong 
with his avenging purpose, overcame the murderer- 
King at last, and Macbeth fell, neVer to rise 
again. 



MACBETH 161 

Then Macduff, with one stroke, cut off his un- 
kingly head and bore it to Malcolm in triumph.. 

" Hail, King I " he cried to the son of Duncan. 
*' Behold where stands the usurper's cursed 
head. . . . Hail, King of Scotland ! " 



THE TEMPEST 

CHAPTER I 

TN a peaceful blue sea lay a lovely little island. 
•■■ Palms and flowering trees were reflected in the 
calm waters that gently broke on the yellow sands, 
or rippled round caves in the rocks, where long 
crystals hung down, glittering like diamonds. 

It was all as fair and strange as a dream, and one 
wondered what beautiful creatures could be worthy 
to live on so delightful an island. 

At first it seemed as though it were (Jeserted. 
There were pleasant woods, with nuts and berries and 
all sorts of wild flowers, but only the birds sang 
there; and the little wild animals, rabbits and deer 
and marmosets, scurried around; but no children 
played there. Little springs of clear fresh water 
bubbled up in the shady green, and little rivulets 
ran sparkling in the sunshine through grassy mead- 
ows, and the fish swam and jumped as though they 
never had heard of a hook. 

Was no one there to enjoy tliis lovely island? 

On a high part of the cliff, looking out over the 

smooth sunny sea, stood one tall figure. He was 

dressed in a long dark garment, rich of texture and 

cunningly wrought with gold. He smoothed his long 

grey beard thoughtfully as he gazed far out across 

16^ 



THE TEMPEST 163 

the sea. Had we stood by his side we could not 
have seen what he did, for his keen sight was aided 
by magic powers, that carried his vision far beyond 
even the range of the telescope. 

This grave elderly man was learned In all magic 
arts ; he could summon the spirits from the sea, the 
air, and under the earth, and they came. 

And now, as he looked over the smiling blue sea, 
he saw. In the far distance, a fleet of noble ships, 
and on the grandest and biggest he knew who 
travelled. 

" Now," he thought, " nojw is the time for which 
I have waited ; now my enemies shall be delivered Into 
my hands. Now, you, O King, who so shamefully 
sold me; you, my brother, who so basely betrayed 
me ; now I will summon you to this lonely isle — of 
which you have never heard — and here shall you 
learn the result of your wickedness. With pains 
must you learn; but my wisdom will not only pun- 
ish." Then he raised his staff and called : " Come 
hither, servant ! Come, Ariel ! " 

At his word, from out the air itself seemed to form 
a spirit, so hght, so bright, so swift, he appeared to 
move like lightning, to come and go with the swift- 
ness of the wind, to be made of nothing more solid 
than air. As he fluttered down like a bird on the 
grass by his master's side, he scarcely pressed the 
flowers and ferns growing there. His wings of gos- 
samer quivered like those of a dragon-fly, and his 
little suit of shimmering green sparkled and dazzled 
like a humming-bird's breast. 



164 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Gravely the stately magician smiled to see him, 
and Ariel bowed low. 

" All hail, great master ! Grave sir, hail ! I 
come in answer to thy call; I am ready to do thy 
bidding. Is it to dive into the fire, or to ride the 
clouds, or swim, or fly? What is thy pleasure?" 

" My brave spirit," said Prospero — that was the 
magician's name — " this time, 'twixt six o'clock and 
now, must be spent by us both most preciously. Far 
out on the horizon sails a fleet ^ — dost thou see the 
fine ships ? " 

Prospero waved his staff out over the blue sea ; 
and Ariel, poising in the air, nodded, " Ay, sir." 

^' It comes from Carthage, does that grand fleet. 
Hither has the King of Naples taken his only daugh- 
ter to wed her to the King of Carthage. Now he 
and his gallant company are returning to fair 
Naples. But I have other ideas about his journey." 

Ariel folded his wings and waited at his master's 
feet. 

" Around those distant ships, thou Ariel, and aU 
thy companions of the air whom I have given into 
thy command, must raise a most terrible tempest. 
A tempest of Jove's lightning and dreadful thunder- 
claps. Their roarings must stir up mighty Nep- 
tune's waves, lightning flames shall dance and 
quiver; such a tempest as shall make the most bold 
tremble." 

Ariel fluttered up to look at the ships, then down 
to the grass again. "Yes, "great sir. And then?" 

*' Listen, spirit. Thou shalt disperse the ships 



THE TEMPEST 165 

out towards the Mediterranean Sea, and let them in 
safety rejoin each other with no harm done; but one 
ship, the one whereon the King of Naples, his son, 
and his nobles are sailing, that must thou separate 
from the others, and to their view must that ship 
apparently go down amidst the dreadful waves, 
cracking and splitting, with all on board engulfed. 
But thou shalt contrive that the billows bear it on 
towards this island. Then, when nearing the shore, 
shalt thou cause such panic and such madness to' 
seize the men, that, thinking the ship is cracking 
asunder, they shall plunge in the foaming sea. Thou 
and thy sprites shall uphold them, and bring them 
in safety to shore ; but see to it that the King's son, 
Ferdinand, shall leap alone and land on a deserted 
beach, full of the idea that he has seen all the others 
go down into the deep. The King and his nobles 
lead to another part, and they shall believe Ferdi- 
nand has perished. Then cast a magic spell over 
the ship, that all the sailors may sink into a deep 
sleep ; bid thy companions take the ship into a safe 
and secret cove, where they shall make all in perfect 
order. Dost thou understand? " 

Ariel paused. " This is a big task, sir ; but after 
it is accomplished wilt thou remember what thou 
hast promised me? Wilt thou then give me my 
liberty.?" 

Prospero looked down angrily; he liked to be 
obeyed quickly, and no words about it. 

"How now.?" he said; "thou dost forget from 
what a fate I rescued thee, ungrateful sprite ! " 



166 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" Ah no, sir, I do not ! " said Ariel, quaking in his 
shoes at his master's tone. 

" Yes, thou dost. I must remind thee. When I 
came to this island I found thee groaning and moan- 
ing, a prisoner in a cloven pine-tree. There, for 
twelve long painful years, hadst thou been held. 
The wicked witch who had lived here with her mon- 
ster son, Caliban, had been angered that thou, being 
of such delicate make, even of air, couldst not obey 
her horrid commands ; and so she thrust thee in that 
split tree, and by her magic spells kept thee there. 
Then she died, and there was no one to deliver thee. 
Caliban was here alone, and he had not his mother's 
learning." 

" I know, sir," murmured Ariel, who did not enjoy 
thinking of those evil days that were past. 

Prospero looked at him severely. " Remember it 
well, then. I delivered thee from that cruel plight ; 
but if again thou dost grumble at my tasks, I will 
rend an oak, and there thou shalt howl for twelve 
winters in his knotty heart." 

" Pardon, master," cried Ariel, his wings all droop- 
ing and looking very meek, "I will indeed do all 
thy commands." 

" Good ! then in two 3ays' time thou shalt have 
thy liberty. Go now; make thyself and thy com- 
panions like nymphs of the sea, make thyself nimble. 
Go hence with diligence." 

Ariel gave a leap of joy, and was only too wilhng 
to fly and carry out all his master's commands. 
Like a bird he flashed over the sea, singing and 



THE TEMPEST 167 

whistling as he went, and from his high mound Pros- 
pero saw the ocean being lashed into white-crested 
waves ; the sky grew dark ; the rolling of thunder 
was heard ; lightning flashed, zig-zagging on the 
water ; the wind howled ; greater and blacker grew 
the tempest ; and then, over the angry waves, driven 
in a fury of storm, a gallant barque came in sight. 

To the poor fellows on board it seemed as though 
the whole world were cracking up in the fearful 
tempest, and yet on the island to which they were 
being driven all was calm and bright; and round 
them, only quite invisible, scurried Ariel and his com- 
panion sprites, thoroughly ^enj oying the hurly-burly 
they were creating; and at last, as one after the 
other of the distracted men on deck plunged into 
the stormy waves, they protected them from all harm, 
and brought them to shore as arranged, the Prince 
Ferdinand being drifted off by himself, and thinking 
that he alone of all the company had swam safely 
to shore. 

" My brave spirit," said Prospero as he turned 
away from the sea that was now sinking into calm, 
like a child that has been swept by a passion of 
tears, and is again looking up to smile. He walked 
slowly from the grassy slope of the cliff, and went 
towards the sheltered ridge in which were many caves, 
arranged by him as sleeping-rooms and living- 
rooms, and one of which held his precious books and 
curious instruments that he needed for his magic 
arts. 

Prospero did not live alone on his enchanted 



168 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

island; besides Ariel and other spirits and the mon- 
ster Caliban, he had with him his daughter Miranda, 
and she was as fair and beautiful a maiden as any 
father could wish to see. As he approached the 
caves she hurried to meet him ; her face was pale and 
her eyes wet. 

"Alas! my dear father, if you have raised this 
terrible tempest, oh ! let it now cease. I watched the 
ship fight in that black sea; I heard the cry of the 
poor sailors, and I wept with them. I fear they are 
all drowned. Had I but had the power, surely I 
would have saved those poor souls." 

^' No harm is done, my dear daughter," Prospero 
answered soothingly. " Dry your eyes '—^ all are 
saved. What I did, I did in my love and care for 
you. It is time you should know the story of how 
you came to this island, you and your father; and 
who your father is, other than poor Prospero. Help 
me to lay aside my magic garment, and sit here and 
give me your attention." 

Miranda took oflF her father's long cloak with its 
curious workmanship of golden figures, and she sat 
beside him on the grassy bank, waiting breathlessly 
for the story that she had never liked to press him 
to tell her, 

" Do you remember any other home, ni}'' child, 
before you found yourself living on this island? " 
Prospero asked her. 

" Indeed, yes, though it seems like a dream. Had 
I not maids who dressed and cared for me? " 

" Certainly you had. How strange you should 



THE TEMPEST 169 

remember that and not how you came here. Do you 
remember nothing more? " 

" No, I have forgotten all.'* 

" Well, you were but three years old, and it is 
twelve long years ago. Then, my Miranda, your 
father was the Duke of Milan, a prince of power." 

Miranda started. " But are not you my father? " 

Prospero patted her hand. " Surely — and yet 
your father was the Duke of Milan and his only child 
a Princess." 

" Oh, what foul play was there, that we came here 
from Milan — how was it ? " 

" Indeed, my child," said Prospero very sadly, " it 
was foul pla3^ Listen well. I had a brother and 
you an uncle, called Antonio. To think a brother 
could be so false! I loved and trusted him, and 
while I studied deeply in my learned books, and gave 
my attention to all arts for which I was renowned, 
I left to him the management of my states. But he, 
like the ivy which covers and sucks from the stately 
oak its very life, so he drew my dignity to himself, 
used his power — that I gave him ■ — to turn my peo- 
ple's hearts to him. He played the Duke, I being so 
buried in my studies, until at last he felt he would 
like in truth to be the Duke. So for that wicked 
purpose he made a plot with the King of Naples that 
he would give him tribute and do him homage, did 
he assist him to drive me forth — to kill me." 

" Alas, alas ! " cried Miranda, " to think two 
brothers could be so different." 

Her father, sitting straight and stern as he re- 



170 SHAKESPEAKE'S STORIES 

called all the wicked doings, continued : " One night 
a treacherous army, helped by Naples, came to fair 
Milan. Antonio opened the gates, and in the dead 
darkness they seized me, and your poor crying self, 
and hurried us away." 

" Ah me ! " said Miranda. " I could cry again to 
think of that dark night. But why did they not 
destroy us ? " 

" You may well ask, my child. But, dear, they 
Sid not dare, for my people loved me. They pre- 
tended no ill was meant, and placed us on a fine 
ship. But, some miles out to sea they had prepared 
a rotten boat, no rigging, no tackle, no sail, nor 
mast — the very rats had left so poor a shelter. 
Here they put us ^ — you and me — to cry to the 
sea that roared, to sigh to the winds, who, sighing 
back, drove us out and away." 

" Oh, poor father ! what a trouble I must have 
been to you ! " said Miranda, leaning her head 
against his shoulder. 

" Ah no ! you were an angel to comfort me ! You 
smiled as though all would be well, when I was like 
to add my salt tears to the salt sea." 

" But how came we to this island .'^ " 

" God helped us. We had some food in the 
wretched boat, and some fresh water; for one noble 
of Naples, Gonzalo, had pity on us. He had been 
told to carry out this wicked plot and it grieved his 
heart. So he placed many things in the boat, food 
and rich clothing, stuffs and necessaries. Also, 
knowing how I loved my books, he had taken many 



THE TEMPEST 171 

from my own library and stowed them in the 
boat." 

" I would like to thank that man," said Miranda 
softly. 

Prosper© rose, and again drew on his dark magi- 
cian's robe. " Sit still here, my child, and but one 
word more of our sea-sorrow. The wind brought 
us to this isle, and here have I cared for you, and 
taught you more than is often known by Prin- 
cesses." 

" I thank you for it, my father. But I pray one 
more question. Why did you with your wondrous 
power raise this storm? " ^ 

" This much can I tell you. A most strange for- 
tune has brought to this island my enemies. For me 
now rises a prosperous star. But I must not let 
this time slip by me. The opportunity will not 
come again. Now sleep, Miranda " — as he spoke, 
Prospero waved his staff — " it is a good sleep, and I 
know you cannot help it." 

Miranda's head sank back on the grassy bank, 
her eyes closed. Her father smiled down on her; 
his mind was full of plans, and to see his daughter 
happy, and again in her rightful position, was the 
thing for which he worked. Then he waved his 
staff. 

" Ho ! Ariel, my sprite," he called, and Ariel stoo<l 
beside him. " 'Twas bravely done. Hast thou 
landed all in safety ? " 

" All, my master — and as thou commandest, none 
have suffered hurt. Not a hair perished, on their 



m SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

garments not a stain, but fresher even than they 
were before." 

" And where is Ferdinand ? " 

" Close by, my master. I have landed him by 
himself, and in a rocky corner he sits, filling the air 
with sighs." 

" Go, then, and with music draw him hither. But 
be thyself invisible ! " 

" My lord, it shall be done." And away Ariel 
flew. 

Then Prospero turned to a cavern at a little dis- 
tance, and, in a voice hard and stern, shouted: 
" What ho, slave ! Caliban, come forth 1 " 

The answer was a growl, and then : " There's 
wood enough within." 

Prospero called again : " Come forth, thou tor- 
toise ! Come forth, I say ! " 

Growling and grunting, and cursing below his 
breath, a great unwieldy monster shuffled into the 
open air. His body was big and heavy, and his arms 
short and terribly strong. His nails were like claws, 
and the little eyes in his great face looked as though 
they could burn with hatred. A shaggy mop of 
black hair hung down rough and unkempt, and a 
coarse brown garment with leathern belt and straps 
covered him. 

" May the wind blow and cover thee with blis- 
ters ! " was his greeting to his master. 

" For that thou shalt be pinched to-night, and 
bees shall sting thee, wicked monster," said Pros- 
per© sternly. 



THE TEMPEST 173 

" I must eat my dinner in peace," growled Cali- 
ban, " This island is mine ; my mother, the witch, 
left it to me! When first thou earnest, thou didst 
treat me kindly, gave me good things to eat, and told 
me of the great big light and the little lights, and 
then I loved thee, and showed thee all the best places 
in the island, for water, for berries, for fruits. Now 
thou dost keep me to this cave, and will not let me 
roam about my island, and I hate thee, and wish all 
toads and beetles and bats that obeyed my mother 
may plague thee." 

" Thou wicked slave ! I did indeed treat thee 
kindly, and taught thee speech; but thou wouldst 
learn nothing good, and when thou in malice sought- 
est to harm my child, richly thou deservest that I 
should hold thee prisoner, and give thee no liberty 
for wickedness." 

" Eh, thou taughtest me to speak, and now I can 
curse thee," growled Caliban. 

" Go ; fetch fuel," Prospero ordered. " Do thy 
work well and willingly, or I will rack thee with old 
cramps and make thy bones ache, that thou shalt 
frighten the beasts with thy roars." 

" No, no, I pray thee ! " said Caliban, really fright- 
ened at such a prospect, and he went away grum- 
bling to himself : " I must obey ; he has such power. 
Even my witch mother would have had to obey his 
powerful arts." 

Ariel in the meantime had flown over the island to 
the part of the beach where Ferdinand had swam to 
shore, and where, sad and sorrowful, he bemoaned 



174 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

the cruel fate that had cast him on an unknown isl- 
and, and drowned his father and friends in the 
stormy sea. 

Ariel thoroughly enjoyed the task that Prospero 
had given him. He and his airy companions had 
scattered the wrecked party in different parts of the 
island, and had then blown the ship, with the sailors 
sleeping a magic sleep, safely into a well-sheltered 
cove. Now he was to make merry tormenting and 
confusing the wanderers. Himself invisible, he was 
to make strange music, sing songs, talk out of the 
air to them of their past wickedness, and fill them 
with dismay. But Ferdinand was innocent of any 
knowledge of the base part his father had played 
in causing Duke Prospero's banishment and ap- 
parent death; he was to be dealt with quite differ- 
ently, for Prospero had other plans for him. So as 
he sat sadly thinking of the result of the fearful 
tempest, the air was suddenly filled with music, and 
a sense of wings flying all about, though nothing 
could he see. Then a sweet voice sang, clear as a 
silver bell, accompanied by the notes of a harp that 
fell like water: 

** Come unto these yellow sands, 

And take hands: 
Courtsied when you have, and kissed 

The wild waves whist. 
Foot it featly here and there; 
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. 

Hark, hark!" 



THE TEMPEST 175 

So sang Ariel, and then his laughing companions all 
joined in with " Bow-wow." 

Ariel sang again, " The watch-dogs bark ! " and 
again the others joined in, " Bow-wow." 

" Hark, Hark ! I hear 
The strain of strutting chanteclere 
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow." 

Then Ariel and his friends with a ripple of laughter 
seemed to fly away. 

Ferdinand arose, and walked wonderingly after 
the sound. " Where should this music be ? In the 
air, or on the earth.'' Now it has ceased. Surely 
there must be fairies on this island. I seemed to 
hear it on the waters, and it soothed both them and 
me; and I felt drawn to follow it. Now I hear it 
again. I must find who it is that sings." 

Ariel, still invisible, came close in front of him, 
and, in a low, mournful voice, sang: 

" Full fathom five thy father lies. 

Of his bones are coral made; 
These are pearls that were his eyes: 

Nothing of him that doth fade. 
But doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange. 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: 

and lowly and slowly all round the bewildered Ferdi- 
nand the air-sprites sang after Ariel: 

" Ding-dong, ding-dong, bell.** 



176 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Now near, now far, the strange bell-like voices 
moved along the path that led up from the shore, 
through a little wood, towards the place where Pros- 
per© and Miranda had made their home out of the 
caves. Ferdinand followed the singing, wondering 
that it should seem to tell of his drowned father, and 
feeling more and more certain that it could be no 
mortal sound. 

And so Ariel led him right through the wood, and 
up to the grassy mound where Prospero and Miranda 
were sitting. As he came in sight, Prospero woke 
Miranda from her gentle spell of sleep, and asked 
her what she saw. 

Miranda, who could not remember any of the peo- 
ple at her father's Court when she was a baby, and 
who, since then, had only seen her father and the 
monster Caliban, besides Ariel and his fellow sprites, 
turned very admiring eyes on the advancing stran- 
ger, so young and noble-looking. 

" What is it, sir ? " she asked. '* Surely a spirit ! 
And how he looks about ! He has a brave form." 

Prospero laughed. " No, child, that is no spirit ; 
he eats and sleeps as we do. He was one of 
those you saw in the wrecked ship, and, if he were 
not sad and downcast, you might call him a good- 
looking fellow. He is searching for his compan- 
ions." 

" Oh ! " said Miranda, ^* I call him a thing divine. 
I never saw mortal look so noble." 

Prospero was delighted to hear Miranda's praise ; 
this all worked in well with his plan, and he whispered 



THE TEMPEST 177 

to Ariel, whom he could see, though no one else could : 

" Well done, fine sprite ! You will soon have your 
freedom." 

Ferdinand, as he drew nearer, raised his sad eyes, 
and then he saw Miranda, that fair and lovely girl; 
and small wonder was it that, thinking the place to 
be full of magic, he should take her for a spirit, the 
Queen of all in the wonderful and beautiful island. 
In her long gown of white, with a golden band hold- 
ing the folds gracefully round her slender waist, and 
a wreath of wild roses in her fair hair, she looked like 
some vision of spring — some dream of eternal 
youth. 

So full were his eyes of Miranda that he never 
even noticed the dark, tall figure of her father stand- 
ing near. He advanced with a low bow, and spoke 
softly, wondering if his Italian tongue would be un- 
derstood by this radiant vision. 

" Surely this must be the Queen on whom the magic 
music waits ! " he said. " Oh, tell me, wonderful 
lady, do you live on this island? Are you a mortal 
maid or a spirit?" 

Miranda was blushing as pink as the roses in her 
hair. 

" No spirit I, sir, and certainly a mortal maid." 

Ferdinand clapped his hands with joy. 

'* My language ! She speaks my language ! And 
I, alas ! am the best that is left of those who came 
from my beloved Italy ! " 

Prospero stepped forward at this and spoke 
sternly : 



178 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

"How now, sir? The best? What would the 
King of Naples say did he hear you? " 

" I wonder to hear you speak of Naples," said 
Ferdinand, in fresh amazement. " But alas for it ! 
I myself am Naples' King. My father, sir, was 
drowned in that terrible tempest." 

" Alack ! alack ! " cried Miranda, full of sympathy^. 

Ferdinand looked on her with gratitude. 

'* Alas ! yes ; and all his lords, the Duke of Milan 
and his brave son among them." 

" Ho, ho ! " said Prosper© to himself. " The Duke 
of Milan and his brave daughter could tell a differ- 
ent storv." 

And then he noticed how devoutly Ferdinand 
turned to Miranda, how his eyes could not leave her 
blushing face, and how she, half trembling, half 
happy, gave him sympathy for the storm and loss 
which he described to her. 

"So; that goes well," he said to himself — "just 
as I would have it. But not too fast, young sir, not 
too fast." 

For that the evil which had been done to him 
should be repaid by his daughter's happiness was 
now his wish, and that Naples' son should wed his 
daughter seemed to him a fine ending to all their 
trouble. But " too light winning makes the prize 
light," he thought. He therefore listened gravely 
as Ferdinand, taking Miranda's hand in his, and re- 
spectfully bowing to kiss it, said : 

" Fair lady, if only I can be fortunate enough to 
win your love, I will make you Queen of Naples." 



THE TEMPEST 179 

Miranda's eyes made words quite unnecessary ; 
they said very plainly : " It will not be difficult for 
you to win my love." 

But her father interrupted roughly : *' Listen to 
me, young man: you call yourself King of Naples 
in sooth, and that I know you are not." He knew, 
of course, that Ferdinand's father was not dead, but 
had also been brought safely to shore. " No, I have 
a mind that you are a spy," he went on, " and have 
come to this island to win it from me — its lord." 

Ferdinand started with horror. 

" No, as I am a man ! " - 

Miranda grew pale and troubled. 

'* Why does my father speak like that ? " she won- 
dered. " In so fair a house only good things can 
dwell ; " but she dared say nothing. 

Prospero continued, still with seeming anger : ** I 
know you — you are a traitor, and I will keep you 
prisoner ; give you sea-water to drink, and old roots 
and acorns shall be your food. Follow me." 

" Not I," said Ferdinand, now angry too. " Not 
while I can fight ; " and he drew his sword. 

Prospero merely raised his staff, and the young 
Prince could not move. 

Miranda, knowing her father's magic powers, 
gently seized his arm. 

" Oh, my dear father, do not try him so sorely ; he 
is gentle, not fearful. I will be surety for him." 

" You plead for a traitor ! See, he dare not strike ; 
he knows his guilt," mocked Prospero. 

" Nay, my dear father, have pity on him." 



180 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Then Prospero feigned to be angry with Miranda. 

" Oh, you think this a fine Prince. Why, you 
have never seen any man. He is fine beside Cahban, 
but to most men he is a mere Caliban ! " 

Miranda shook her head. 

*' I never wish to see a goodlier man." 

" Come," said Prospero ; " come to this cave. You 
cannot refuse to obey ; you are weak as a child." 

" So I feel," said poor Ferdinand, dismayed. " It 
must be all my troubles — the wreck, my father's 
loss, not this man's threats that so disturb me. In 
my prison, however, if but once a day I may behold 
this sweet lady, then contented I go to prison." 

He turned once more to look at Miranda, and she 
quickly at his side whispered: 

^' Take comfort ; my father is of better nature than 
now appears." 

Prospero, however, marched off the Prince and 
locked him up for the time; and Miranda went into 
her own cave, fitted up as a pretty sitting-room, with 
her work and her music lying about, and throwing 
herself on a couch covered with a fine silk rug, she 
sighed and sighed; then wept, then smiled. The 
coming of this noble Prince had brought her tears, 
so she wept ; but his coming had brought her love, 
and so she smiled. 

As for her father, she knew him to be good and 
kind, and also wise ; so she wondered what he had in 
his mind. He had raised the tempest, but had saved 
all the men on board; he had locked up the gallant 
Prince with threats and anger; but she wondered 



THE TEMPEST 181 

what he really meant to do. She could only wait 
and see. 

And also, being a girl of some wisdom, she resolved 
to see the Prince whenever she found an opportu- 
nity. He had said that would cheer any prison. 
She would certainly give him that cheer. 

Now, while things were going at first sight very 
badly with Prince Ferdinand, in another part of the 
island there was much grief over his apparent death 
in the tempestuous sea. 



CHAPTER II 

In a sunny, sheltered little bay, Alonso, the King 
of Naples, and his lords, had been safely brought to 
land by Ariel and his companions. Among the no- 
bles seated round the King on a grassy bank was his 
own brother Sebastian, and the wicked brother of 
Prospero, Antonio. Also the good old Gonzalo, who 
had been so kind a friend to Prospero in his deep 
need, and had seen that necessary comforts and his 
beloved books had been placed in the poor little boat 
that had drifted across the sea to the unknown island, 
where they were now all assembled. 

King Alonso was mourning for his son, his only 
son, whom he had seen, or thought he had seen, swal- 
lowed up in a mighty wave, and no one could comfort 
him. 

Gonzalo reminded him that their own escape had 
been most wonderful. Then, how delicious and fresh 



18S SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

was the air; and the grass, how green and lusty it 
looks. And he pointed to their clothes, which were 
quite unstained with the salt water. 

" Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when 
we put them fresh in Africe, at the marriage of the 
King's fair daughter Claribel to the King of 
Tunis." 

'' A sweet marriage," said Sebastian bitterly, 
" and we prosper well in our return." 

Alonso ra,ised his bowed head from his hands. 

*' Would I had never married my daughter so far 
from Italy ! I shall never see her again, and coming 
home my son is lost. Alas ! what strange fish hath 
made his meal on thee, my heir of Naples ? " 

Then one of the lords, Francesco, tried to com- 
fort him. 

" Sir, he may live ; I saw him beat the waves under 
him, and ride upon their backs. He trod the water, 
and kept his bold head above the waves ; and his good 
arms, like oars, in lusty strokes brought him, I doubt 
not, alive to land." 

But Alonso shook his head. "' No, no ; he is gone." 

Sebastian, who did not care very much if his 
nephew were drowned — for his death made him the 
next heir to the throne of Naples — shrugged his 
shoulders. 

" Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss. 
You would not let your daughter wed in Europe, but 
must take her to Africa, where she is banished from 
your eye." 

" Prithee, peace," said poor Alonso, who knew 



THE TEMPEST 183 

quite well that this was true, and did not care to 
hear it. 

But Sebastian went on : " We all did kneel to you 
and beseech you, and so did the fair girl herself, but 
you would have it so. And now you have lost your 
son, and many in Milan and Naples are made wid- 
ows by all the men we have lost. The fault is your 
own." 

" So is the dearest of the loss," said Alonso, look- 
ing up sadly. 

" My lord Sebastian," cried good old Gonzalo re- 
bukingly. " The truth you speak doth lack some 
gentleness. You rub the sore when you should 
bring the plaster." 

While they were talking, Ariel flew lightly to that 
place, and though no one could see him they all be- 
gan to hear strange and solemn music. It had the 
effect on most of them of an overpowering need to 
sleep, and one by one they sank back on the soft 
grass and peacefully slept. All but Alonso, Sebas- 
tian, and Antonio. Alonso looked around aston- 
ished. 

" What ! all so soon asleep 1 I wisK mine eyes , 
would with themselves shut up my thoughts. They 
are inclined to do so," he added, folding himself in 
his cloak and leaning back on his arm. 

Sebastian and Antonio urged him to sleep, and 
promised to guard him while he rested. 

But Sebastian was made of the same base stuff as 
Antonio, who, we know, had supplanted his brother 
Prospero and caused his death, as far as he knew. 



184^ SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Now his busy brain, in no way afflicted by the music 
that had sent the others to sleep, was plotting again, 
and thinking what advantage he could get out of 
the present distress. 

There lay Naples' King asleep, and except for his 
wicked self and that King's brother, unguarded. 

And the King's brother might be King, even as 
he had become Duke, if only he had the same mind, 
and would use the same kinds of methods. 

So, craftily, he began to talk to- the weak Sebas- 
tian, and tell him " there might be one could rule in 
Naples as well as he that sleeps " ; and he pointed to 
Alonso, sunk in profound slumber, and to Gonzalo, 
the good old lord, snoring away peacefully. 

" Say this were death that now had seized them ! 
Why, they were no worse than now they are. Oh, 
that you bore the mind that I do ! " he went on, press- 
ing Sebastian's arm, and gently touching the jewelled 
dagger that hung by his side. ^' What a sleep were 
this for your advancement ! Do you understand 
me ? " 

" Methinks I do," answered Sebastian hesitat- 
ingly. 

" And how does the idea of your good-fortune con- 
tent you ? " 

Sebastian looked at Antonio doubtfully. " I re- 
member you did supplant your brother Prospero." 

" True," said Antonio, as if that were nothing to 
be ashamed of ; " and look how well my garments sit 
upon me! My brother's servants were then my fel- 
lows, now they are my men ! " 



THE TEMPEST 185 

" But for your conscience " began Sebastian ; 

and Antonio answered him with a laugh: 

" Ah, sir — where lies that ! I feel not that de- 
ity within my bosom. Twenty consciences could 
not stand between me and Milan. There lies your 
brother, no better than the earth he lies upon ; if he 
were that which now he is like, that's dead! I, with 
this obedient steel, three inches of it " — and he drew 
his own dagger and showed the sharp point — " can 
lay him to bed for ever, while you can do the same 
to that ancient morsel. Sir Prudence ; " and he 
pointed to the sleeping Gonzalo. " He might up- 
braid us, but for the rest " — he looked at the 
other sleeping lords — " they will follow where we 
lead." 

Sebastian took a deep breath. It all seemed so 
easy, so simple, and then he would be King, King! 
He looked with admiration at Antonio: how well he 
did without a conscience! 

'' I will do as you did, dear friend. As you got 
Milan, so will I come by Naples. Draw your sword, 
one stroke, and 3^ou shall be free from the tribute 
that you pay to Naples, and I, the King, will love 
you." 

Antonio clapped him on the shoulder. 

" Draw together, and when I raise my hand, you 
do the like, and fall on Gonzalo." 

If it had not been for the invisible Ariel, this 
wicked plot might have been carried out; but he, 
sent by Prospero, who knew in his own magic ways 
what was happening in that distant part of the 



186 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

island, suddenly swooped down, and sang in Gon- 
zalo's ear: 

" While you do snoring lie, 
Open-eyed conspiracy 

His time doth take. 
If of life you keep a care, 
Shake off slumber and beware: 
Awake ! Awake ! " 

Old Gonzalo, starting up as out of a nightmare, 
shouted : " Now, good angels, preserve the King ! " 
and violently shook him by the arm. Alonso, thus 
awakened from his deep sleep, looked up in astonish- 
ment at the two conspirators, who, with drawn 
swords, were standing at his side. 

" Why ! how now — ho, awake ? Why are you 
drawn.? Wherefore this ghastly looking? " 

Sebastian and Antonio stared dismayed at each 
other, and then in a kind of bewilderment sheathed 
their swords. 

" Sir," said Sebastian, recovering his wits and 
ready with a lie, " while we stood here guarding your 
sleep, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing, like bulls, 
or rather, lions. Did it not wake you.'' It struck 
my ears most terribly." 

" No," said Alonso, " I heard nothing." 

Antonio then spoke eagerly : " Oh, it was a din 
to fright a monster's ear, to make an earthquake. 
Sure, it was the roar of a whole herd of lions." 

Alonso turned to Gonzalo : " Did you hear this, 
Gonzalo ? " 



THE TEMPEST 187 

Gonzalo seemed extremely puzzled; he tried to 
remember what had woke him so suddenly, but he 
could not remember Ariel's warning song. 

" Upon my honour, sir," he answered, " I heard a 
humming, and a strange one, too, which did awake 
me. I shaked you, sir, and cried. As my eyes 
opened I saw their weapons drawn. There was a 
noise, that's true. It is best we stand upon our 
guard, or that we quit this place. Let us draw our 
weapons." 

Everyone was now fully awakened; they looked 
at one another; some said they had heard a noise, 
others had noticed nothing, and Sebastian and An- 
tonio, finding how well they had got out of a difficult 
corner, continued to explain what dreadful bellow- 
ings and roarings had made them spring up and draw 
their swords to defend the King. 

They all agreed this island on which they were 
cast adrift must certainly be haunted. 

" Well," said Alonso, " let us leave this place. 
Lead off, Gonzalo, and we will make further search 
for my poor son." 

"Heaven keep him from these beasts," prayed 
Gonzalo, as, sword in hand, he prepared to go 
through the little wood that lay at the back of their 
grassy shelter ; " for surely he is somewhere on this 
island." 

And so they all followed him; the two conspira- 
tors walking last, whispering to each other that they 
must wait now for the next opportunity. 

Ariel, very pleased at having preserved the King 



188 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

and thoroughly confused everybody, flew gaily off to 
report to Prospero, and get his further instructions. 



CHAPTER HI 

Now, though most of the sailors and servants 
on the King's ship had been thrown into a deep 
slumber by Ariel and his companions, and were ly- 
ing in their berths in safe shelter, yet a few had cast 
themselves into the sea when the ship appeared to be 
breaking up, and so had come to shore. One of 
these was the butler Stephano, and he was a very 
drunken fellow, whether at sea or on land ; and even 
the peril of the storm had not made him forget his 
beloved liquor. So when he tumbled himself into 
the sea, half drunk even then, he clung with all his 
might to a barrel of sack — a very pleasant wine 
much drunk in those days — and Ariel's sprites, 
laughing over his efforts to save himself and his 
drink, helped him astride the barrel, and brought 
him to a convenient cave in the shore, where he 
stowed his treasure, and then, making a bottle of 
bark to carry with him, he went forth to investigate 
the island. 

Another queer fellow who also swam safely to that 
same part of the island was Trincolo, and he was 
the King's jester. As was his duty, he tried to 
take things, even the most unpleasant, in a merry 
mood; but though he was very glad to find himself 
walking on solid ground and in a very beautiful coun- 



THE TEMPEST 189 

try, and glad, too, that his clothes had not suffered 
in the water, one yellow leg as bright as ever, and the 
other blue one as blue as when new, and his jester's 
bauble rattling away gaily, yet he longed for some- 
one to speak to, and, as he looked at the still threat- 
ening clouds, for some shelter to hide in. 

Now, as he walked, he chanced to come across Cal- 
iban, who was carrying logs from a wood where he 
had been chopping. He grumbled and cursed as he 
worked, even though he knew Prospero's sprites 
would hear his bad language and punish him for 
it. 

So when he saw a strange being, in strange 
clothes, and carrying a strange bright-coloured toy 
that rattled, he at once made up his mind it must be 
a sprite sent to plague him for bringing wood so 
slowly, and he promptly laid down on the ground, 
saying to himself: "I'll fall down flat. Perchance 
he will not mind me." 

Trincolo, however, ran right up against him, and 
looked down, astonished, at a great brown form with 

no face — for Caliban was lying on his front 

shaggy hair at one end, and very misshapen feet 
and hands sticking out of the brown mass. 

"What have we here? A man or a fish? Dead 
or ahve? He smells like a fish, a very ancient and 
fish-like smeU. He is legged like a man, and his 
fins like arms." 

Then he stooped and touched one of these anns. 
" Warm, by my troth; this is no fish, but an islander 
that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt." 



190 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

As he spoke of thunder, there came a heavy clap, 
and some big drops of rain splashed down. " Alas ! 
the storm is coming again; where shall I hide my 
head? yonder cloud cannot choose but fall by pail- 
fuls. I will creep under this monster's gaberdine ; 
there is no other shelter hereabout. Misery ac- 
quaints a man with strange bedfellows. I will shel- 
ter here until the storm be past." 

Scarcely had he lifted one side of Caliban's coarse 
cloak and crept in under it, than Stephano came 
along, reeling and singing as he came, bottle in hand, 
from which he every now and then took a good pull, 
and patted it, calling it " his comfort." 

" I shall no more to sea, to sea. 
Here shall I die ashore/' 

he sang, and then he, too, stumbled up against the 
monster, and paused to consider such a queer sight. 
For not only Caliban's two big feet appeared be- 
yond the cloak, but Trincolo's bright-coloured legs 
were also to be seen, though only one body. 

He gave the curious object a slight kick, and Cal- 
iban began to quake all over, and to groan : " Do 
not torment me ! Oh, prithee, do not torment me ! 
I'll bring my wood home faster ! " 

Stephano stared down at the brown object, all 
shaking and quivering, and kicking out legs and arms 
in every direction. 

" What's the matter? Have we devils here? " he 
said, and stooped down. " This is some monster of 
the isle, with four legs, who hath got an ague. 



THE TEMPEST 191 

Where did he learn our language? I will give him 
some of my comfort, and if I can recover him, I will 
tame him, and take him as a present to the King of 
Naples." 

" Oh, don't torment me ! " again groaned Cali- 
ban, shaking with fear. 

" He is in a fit now," said Stephano, nodding his 
head gravely, " and does not talk after the wisest. 
He shall taste of my bottle. Come on, open your 
mouth ; here is that which will shake your shaking, 
I can tell you. Open your mouth again, you can- 
not tell who's your friend." 

As Caliban raised his head and Stephano poured 
some of the contents of his bottle down his great 
red mouth, Trincolo peeped out from the other side, 
and said in fear: 

'' I should know that voice. It should be Steph- 
ano's; but he is drowned, and these are devils. Oh, 
defend me ! " 

Stephano, who was nearly falling over Caliban in 
trying to make him drink, stopped and looked 
round. 

*' Four legs and two voices ! A most curious mon- 
ster. His forward voice now speaks well of his 
friend, his backward voice utters foul speeches. But 
I will recover him, if I use all the wine in my bottle. 
Come! Amen. I will pour some wine in thy other 
mouth." 

So he tumbled round to the other side of the curi- 
ous monster, and then bent over the other voice. 
'' Stephano ! " cried Trincolo, in amazement. 



192 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" Oh," said Stephano, " that other voice doth call 
my name! Mercy, mercy! this is a devil and no 
monster. I will leave him. I have no long spoon." 
For the saying is, one must feed the devil with a long 
spoon. 

So Stephano turned to run away as fast as he 
could. 

But Trincolo was not going to be deserted by a 
friend ; he caught hold of his coat and cried out : 
" Stephano ! If thou art Stephano, touch me and 
speak to me, for I am Trincolo — -be not afraid! — 
thy good friend Trincolo." 

Stephano began to think it sounded very like 
Trincolo's voice, so he paused. " If thou be Trin- 
colo, come forth. I'll pull thee by the lesser legs ; 
if any legs be Trincolo's legs, these are they." So 
he pulled at the blue and yellow legs, and out came 
the rest of Trincolo from under the monster's cloak. 
*' Thou art my Trincolo indeed," he said, looking at 
him as he shook himself and stood upright. " How 
earnest thou inside this moon-calf? " 

" Oh," said Trincolo, " I thought he was killed by 
a thunder-stroke. But thou art not drowned, Steph- 
ano — oh, I hope thou art not drowned ! Is the 
storm overblown, and art thou living? Oh, Steph- 
ano', two Neapolitans escaped!" And he danced 
round his recovered friend. 

Caliban sat up slowly and looked at the two. 
" These be fine things," he said, " if they be not 
sprites. That's a brave god, and has most heavenly 
liquor. I will kneel to him." And down he went 



THE TEMPEST 193 

upon his knees, but Trincolo and Stephano went on 
talking. 

"How didst thou escape?" said Stephano. 

" I clung to a butt of sack which the sailors threw 
overboard. I swear it by this bottle, which I made 
out of the bark of a tree since I was cast ashore. 
Tell how thou didst escape?" 

" Swum ashore, man, like a duck. I can swim like 
a duck, I'll be sworn ! " answered Trincolo. 

" Here, kiss the bottle ! Though thou canst swim 
like a duck, thou art made like a goose." 

Trincolo took a good "pull at the bottle. "Oh, 
Stephano, hast thou any more of this? " 

" The whole butt, man. My cellar is in a rock 
by the seaside, where my wine is hid." Then he 
turned to the kneeling Caliban and asked : " How 
now, moon-calf? How does thine ague? " 

" Hast thou dropped from heaven ? " asked Cali- 
ban solemnly. 

" Out of the moon, I do assure thee," laughed 
Stephano. " I was the man in the moon when time 
was." 

" I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee," 
said Cahban, still kneeling. 

" Come, swear to that ! Kiss the bottle ; anon I 
will furnish it with new contents." 

Stephano held out the wine. Caliban took another 
<drink. 

" I swear upon this bottle to be thy true subject, 
for the liquor is not earthly." 

Stephano and Trincolo were now in high spirits, 



194 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

and very much amused by the " good monster " — 
" the very credulous monster," as Trincolo called 
him. 

But Caliban, who had never before drunk wine or 
seen such strange men, was quite sure that Stephano, 
who had the wondrous liquor, was a god, and so he 
continued to bow before him, and thought in his poor 
fuddled brain that if only this new god would 
take him as his servant he need no more obey Pros- 
pero. 

" I'll show thee every fertile inch of this island," 
he promised. " I'll show thee the best springs, I'll 
pluck the berries, I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood 
enough. A plague upon the tyrant that I serve. 
I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, thou 
wondrous man! I'll kiss thy foot, and swear myself 
thy servant." 

" Come on, then," said Stephano, " down, and 
kiss and swear ! " and he held out his foot. 

Caliban kissed it reverently. " I prithee, let me 
bring thee where crabs grow, and I, with my long 
nails, will dig thee pig-nuts, show thee a jay's nest, 
and instruct thee how to snare the nimble marmo- 
set. I'll bring thee to clustering filberts, and some- 
times I'll get thee young scamels from the rocks. 
Wilt thou go with me? " 

Stephano gave the friendly monster a pat on the 
back, and took Trincolo's arm to help steady him- 
self. 

" Trincolo, the King and all our company being 
drowned, we will inherit here. Lead the way," he 



THE TEMPEST 195 

said to Caliban, " without any more talking. Bear 
the bottle, Fellow Trincolo ; we'll fill him by-and-by 
again." 

Caliban rose joyfully, but very unsteadily, on his 
two great feet, and proudly led the way, singing: 

** Farewell, master. Farewell, farewell ! 
No more dams I'll make for fish: 

Nor fetch in firing 

At requiring; 
Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish. 

'Ban, 'Ban, Ca'Caliban 

Has a new master — get a new man. 
Freedom, hey-day ! hey-day ! Freedom — freedom ! ** 

And so he staggered through the wood, and Steph- 
ano, laughing, followed shouting, " Oh, brave mon- 
ster! lead the way." 

They had not gone very far before Ariel, in- 
structed by Prospero, joined them, flying above 
their heads, and full of the jokes he would play. 
They were all three so unsteady, that when Caliban 
found a pleasant spot with berries and nuts and a 
cool trickling stream, they gladly sat down to rest 
and talk over their plans. 

Caliban, having cooled his head with water, began 
to think how he could best get rid of Prospero and 
let the island be governed by his new and wonderful 
man from the moon. He squatted admiringly at 
Stephano's feet, but he looked with dislike at Trin- 
colo; he had no bottle of heavenly liquor. 

I told thee, master, I am subject to a tyrant, a 



(( 



196 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

sorcerer, who by his cunning hath cheated me of 
this island." 

"Thou liest!" suddenly shouted Ariel just above 
their heads. 

Caliban thought Trincolo spoke, and turned 
angrily on him. 

" Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou ! I would 
my valiant master would destroy thee, I do not 
lie." 

" Trincolo, if thou troublie him in his tale I will 
knock out some of thy teeth," said Stephano. 

" Why, I said nothing ! " answered Trincolo, 
amazed. 

" Mum, then, and no more. Go on, Caliban." 

" I say, by sorcery he got this isle ; but if thy 
Greatness will revenge it on him, thou shalt be lord 
of it, and I will serve thee." 

" But how can it be done ? Canst thou bring me 
to this party.? " asked Stephano. 

" Yea, my lord, I will bring thee to him when he 
is asleep, and thou mayst knock a nail into his head." 

" Thou liest ! " again shouted Ariel, " thou canst 
not." 

Caliban turned growling at Trincolo. 

" What a pied ninny is this ! I do beseech thy 
Greatness, give him a blow, and take the bottle from 
him. When that's gone he shall drink nothing but 
brine, for I will not show him where fresh waters 
are." 

" Trincolo, interrupt the monster one word more, 
and I will beat thee," Stephano said angrily. 



THE TEMPEST 197 

"Why, what did I? I did nothing!" Trincolo 
answered. 

"Didst thou not say he lied?" 

" Thou liest ! " came a voice from the air, and 
Stephano thought Trincolo spoke, and turned on 
him, 

"Do I so? Take that!" and he beat him with a 
stick that Caliban handed him, saying, " Beat him 
enough; after a little I will beat him too." 

Trincolo got up and rubbed himself. 

" A murrain on your monster, and the devil take 
your fingers. I did not give you the lie. You're 
out of your wits and hearing too. This comes of 
drinking sack. I'll go further off." 

Caliban laughed with delight; his moon-god was 
surely great, and could beat everyone, Prospero 
included. 

So he told him of the plot he had thought out, 
how while Prospero slept in his cave Stephano should 
enter softly and first seize his books ; " for without 
his magic books," declared Caliban, " he can do 
nothing. Burn his books, and then batter his skull." 

Stephano nodded. 

Then said Caliban : " He has a beautiful daughter, 
and her thou shalt wed." 

Stephano paused. " Is it so brave a lass ? " 

" Ay, indeed, my lord," assured him Caliban. 

" Very well then, monster," said Stephano firmly, 
" I will kill the man and wed his daughter. We will 
be King and Queen of this island, and Trincolo and 
thyself shall be viceroys. Dost like the plot ? Trin- 



198 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

colo," he called to him, " I am sorry I beat thee, 
but thou must keep a good tongue in thy head. 
Shake hands." 

Trincolo came up good-naturedly; a jester was 
used to all sorts of moods in other men; he shook 
hands, and agreed to the plot. 

Ariel overhead looked wise. " This I will tell my 
master." 

" Within half an hour he will be asleep," went on 
Caliban, looking at the sun, " then thou canst de- 
stroy him. This makes me glad. Wilt thou teach 
me the song thou didst sing erewhile? " 

" Flout 'em and scout 'em 
And scout 'em and flout 'em; 
Thought is free/' 

sang Trincolo. 

" Nay, that is not the tune," said Caliban. 

Then Ariel played the tune on a tabor and pipe. 

"What's that.?" Stephano asked, looking round. 

" A tune played by Nobody," said Trincolo. 

" Mercy on us ! Is it a devil ! " cried Stephano. 

" Be not afraid.'* Caliban spoke reassuringly. 
" This isle is full of noises, sounds, and sweet airs, 
that give delight and hurt not." 

" Oh, oh 1 " cried Stephano, now quite pleased. 
" This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I 
shall have my music for nothing. I wish I could 
see this taborer; he lays it on. . . ." 

" But first thou must destroy Prospero," re- 
minded Caliban anxiously. 



THE TEMPEST 199 

" That shall be by-and-by. The sound is going 
away ; let us follow it, and after do our work. Lead, 
monster, we will follow." 

Ariel flew ahead, piping merrily, and thinking 
what a fine lot of tweakings and prickings and pinches 
he and his friends would give these conspirators, 
when Prospero knew of their nice little plot! In 
the meantime he led them with his magic piping so 
well, that all three were presently landed in a bog, 
which, covered with innocent-looking moss, gave no 
warning of its treacherous character. There, strug- 
gling and kicking, and getting deeper and muddier 
with every struggle, we will leave them for a time, 
while we turn to another part of the island, and see 
what poor Ferdinand and his lady-love were doing. 



CHAPTER lY 

Ferdinand had been given a task by Prospero, that 
never before had come to his princely hands. He 
was to carry a thousand heavy logs of wood, and pile 
them all in a store-cave near to Prospero's study. 

He did it, and what is more, he did not grumble 
at the doing of it ; for all his thoughts were with that 
lovely, gentle maiden, who every now and again stole 
out of her neighbouring cave, and gave him sweet 
consolation and sympathy. 

Miranda could not understan3 her father's harsh 
conduct to this noble Prince ; and she, who had never 
before dreamt of disobeying, now stole secretly out, 



200 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

while she thought her father slept or studied, and 
did her best to relieve Ferdinand's dreary task. 

She sat on one of the heavy logs he placed for 
her near his work, and certainly he did not get on so 
fast with it while she was there. Making room for 
him beside her, she said: 

" I pray you, do not work so hard. I would the 
lightning had burnt up all those logs that you are 
bid to pile. Pray you, set it down and rest awhile. 
My father is hard at study; he is safe for these 
three hours." 

" Oh, most dear mistress," answered Ferdinand. 
" The sun will set before I shall have done what I 
am bound to do." 

" Then let me help you," said Miranda ; " pray 
give me that log. I will pile it for you." 

Ferdinand would not hear of that. He said he 
would rather break his back and crack his sinews; 
but he sat down just for a moment and looked at 
Miranda, as though the sight did him much good. 
Then, quite timidly, he asked her name. 

" Miranda," she answered ; and then remembered 
her father had forbidden her to tell it, or, indeed, 
for that matter, to talk to the young Prince. 

She determined to tell her father, for she would 
not deceive him; but if the young Prince needed 
her presence to cheer him in horrid tasks given by 
her father, why, she was going to give him cheer. 
So, having settled that matter, she and Ferdinand 
forgot all about the logs, all about Prospero, and the 
sun that would soon set. They remembered only 



THE TEMPEST 201 

that they had found one another, and that never 
before had they known what love meant. 

" The very instant that I saw you," murmured 
Ferdinand, " my heart did fly to your service. I 
am a Prince, Miranda, but for your sake am I this 
patient log-man." 

" Do you love me ? " whispered Miranda. 

*' Oh, Heaven ! oh, earth ! bear witness. Beyond 
all limit of what's else in the world I do love, 
prize and honour you," said Ferdinand most fer- 
vently. 

Miranda let a pearly tear fall. " I am a fool to 
weep at what I am glad of," she said, laying a little 
white hand in his. 

" My mistress — dearest " and Ferdinand 

knelt to kiss it. 

" My husband then," said Miranda softly ; and 
bending forward let Ferdinand raise his lips from 
her hand to her face. 

No more log-piling! And who do you think was 
looking on all the time? and looking on with great 
pleasure and no anger at all — why, Prospero him- 
self. No tyrant he, and no cruel father either; he 
had all along been planning this very thing. 

So when they looked up from their embrace, they 
found a smiling figure standing over them, and to 
his astonishment Ferdinand heard these words: 

" If I have been severe with you, it was but to 
try your love. It has stood the test, and for com- 
pensation take my daughter. Before Heaven I do 
ratify this my rich gift. Oh, Ferdinand, do not 



S02 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

smile at me that I do boast of my daughter, for you 
shall find that she outstrips all praise." 

"I do believe it," cried Ferdinand in joy and 
astonishment, again embracing the no less astonished 
and joyful Miranda, and then both knelt to receive 
the blessing of the now gracious Prospero. 

Their peace and joy were disturbed by the quick 
and invisible entry of Ariel, who whispered some- 
thing in the ear of Prospero, which changed his 
countenance to stormy anger, and made Ferdinand 
say aside to Miranda : " This is strange ! your father 
is in some passion that works him strongly." 

" Never till to-day have I seen him touched with 
anger so strange," answered Miranda. 

Prospero had muttered to himself : " I had for- 
got that foul conspiracy of that beast Caliban 
against my life. The moment of their plot is almost 
come." Then he turned to the two, and said kindly : 
" You look dismayed, my son ; but be cheerful. I 
am vexed, and my old brain is troubled; but be not 
disturbed with my infirmiity. You retire to my cell, 
and repose there." 

" We wish you peace," said Miranda and Fer- 
dinand, and together they went to Prospero's study. 

Ariel was quickly at Prospero's side, telling of the 
jaunt he had led the three conspirators, through 
briers and furze and pricking gorse, and how they 
were just now climbing out of a dirty bog, close at 
hand, and making their way to his cell. 

" Quick ! " said Prospero ; " we will lay a trap for 
these thieves. Fetch from my cell the rich-looking 



THE TEMPEST 203 

garments, and hang them on this branch. That 
will catch their eyes." 

No sooner had Ariel done this, and he and Pros- 
pero made themselves invisible, than Caliban came 
lumbering in, followed by Stephano and Trincolo, 
muddy and tattered, but all of them treading as 
much on their toes as possible. 

" Softly, tread softly," whispered Caliban. " We 
are now near his cell." 

" Monster, your fairy, which you said was a harm- 
less fairy, has done little better than play the Jack 
with us." Stephano pointed to his torn clothes and 
bleeding hands. 

" Monster," grumbled Trincolo, " I am covered 
with evil-smelling mud, and my nose is in great in- 
dignation at it." 

"So is mine. Do you hear, monster?" went on 
Stephano ; " if I should take a displeasure at you, 
monster — look you " 

" Oh, good my lord," interrupted Caliban ; " be 
patient, for the prize I bring you to will make 
amends. Now speak softly, all is quiet." 

" Eh, but to lose our bottle in that pool ; that's 
more to me than a wetting, monster," said Trincolo. 

" It is worse than disgrace and dishonour, mon- 
ster; it is infinite loss," added Stephano. 

" Prithee, my King, be quiet. See, here is the 
mouth of the cell," urged Caliban. " No noise, and 
enter. Do that good mischief which may make the 
island thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, for 
aye thy foot-licker." 



204 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Stephano braced himself up. " I do begin to have 
bloody thoughts," he said. 

But just then Trincolo perceived all the grand 
clothes hanging on the branch, rich-coloured velvets 
wrought with gold, slashed doublets and silken hose, 

"Oh, King Stephano," he cried, "look! Oh, 
noble Stephano, what a wardrobe is here for thee ! " 
and he began pulling things down and trying them 
on. 

" Let them alone, fool," growled Caliban ; " it is 
but trash." 

" Oh ho, monster, we know better than that," 
laughed Trincolo, and he and Stephano pulled off 
one grand garment after another. 

" Give that gown to me, Trincolo ; I'll have that 
gown." And Stephano grabbed it from Trincolo. 

" The dropsy drown the fool," growled Caliban, 
dismayed at this waste of time ; " do the murder first. 
If he awake, from toe to crown he will fill our skin 
with pinches." 

"Be quiet, monster. Here, this jerkin will suit 
me," laughed Trincolo, while Stephano handed an 
armful of garments to Caliban, saying: 

" Monster, lay to your fingers, and help carry the 
rest away to my cave, where my hogshead of wine 
is. Go to; carry this, or I will turn thee out of 
my kingdom." 

" I will have none of it," said Caliban angrily ; 
" we lose our time, and shall all be turned into 
barnacles, or apes." 

And he spoke truly, for Prospero, having looked 



THE TEMPEST 205 

on long enough, summoned the sprites, who rushed 
in, in the form of dogs and hounds, and they bit and 
worried the three miscreants who tried in vain to 
protect themselves. Finally they chased them away 
from the cells, Caliban sending out most direful 
roars ; for he knew that his conspiracy was done for, 
and that punishment now lay in store for him. 

Prospero called to Ariel, " Let them be hunted 
soundly. Hey, Silver, at them! and Fury, Fury," 
he called to the dogs, " Tyrant, hey ! " Barking 
and biting, like a pack in full cry, the sprites, as 
dogs, followed after the wretched men, driving them 
through the woods. 

Then Prospero folded his magic robes round him. 
*' At this hour all my enemies lie at my mercy. But 
now this magic will I abjure, and when Ariel has 
given me some heavenly music, which I require, I 
will break my staff and bury it, and deep in the sea 
will I drown my books. Come, Ariel," he called. 
" Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou shalt 
be free as air. For a little longer follow and do 
me service." 

CHAPTER V 

The service which Prospero now asked of Ariel 
was to bring to his cave Alonso and his lords, re- 
leasing them from the magic wood into which they 
had been led, and in which the sins of their past 
lives had haunted them. The wind seemed to sing 
to Alonso of his wickedness in sending the good Duke 



W6 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Prospero and his innocent babe out into the cold, 
dark sea. As for Antonio, the false brother of 
Prospero, his baseness was dinned in his ears, and 
to Sebastian, who had wished to murder and sup- 
plant his brother Alonso, the same thing happened. 
Each one for his sins, whispered the mysterious 
voices of Ariel's sprites, was being punished; the 
sea had cast them forth, and in this dim wood they 
should die a lingering death. 

Strange shapes appeared to them, offering them 
rich foods, then suddenly vanishing, and the dishes 
with them. 

Good old Gonzalo and the other lords sat wearily 
down, and awaited the next misfortune that was to 
come. They thought the King and the two lords 
were out of their minds, for they heard no voices. 

Ariel, having reported their woe to Prospero, was 
now only too willing to hurry off and bring them 
with solemn music into Prospero's presence. He 
drew a magic circle into which they all walked, and 
stood spell-bound, not seeing the tall, fine figure 
wrapped in long dark robes. 

But slowly the music calmed their brains, and 
presently Ariel sang a more cheerful tune, to these 
words, (for he now knew his work was nearly over, 
and he would be free as air ) : 

" Where the bees suck, there suck I, 
In a cowslip's bell I lie; 
There I couch^, where owls do cry, 
On the bat's back I do fly 
After summer merrily. 



THE TEMPEST 207 

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, 

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough." 

" Help me, spirit, quickly," called Prospero. " I 
will take off my robes, and appear as I used to be, 
in the dress of the Duke of Milan." 

This done, be thanked Ariel. " Why, there's my 
dainty Ariel. I shall miss thee, but yet thou shalt 
have thy freedom. Go now to the King's ship and 
waken all the sailors, the captain and the boatsmen, 
and bring them all here." 

Away flew Ariel, and Prospero, making himself 
visible, approached the King, Alonso. 

" Behold, Sir King," he said, " the wronge3 Duke 
of Milan, Prospero 1 And to assure you that I now 
speak to you, I embrace you, and bid you and your 
company a hearty welcome." 

Such astonishment as followed these words It would 
be difficult to describe. They thought they still suf- 
fered from the magic of the Island, and yet Pros- 
pero's hand felt like warm flesh and blood. 

Gonzalo was delighted. Antonio hung his head, 
and so did Sebastian, when Prospero whispered to 
them that he knew of their wicked plot, only for this 
time he would tell no tales. But of his wicked 
brother he required now his dukedom. 

Alonso hastened to promise it should be restored, 
and told him of the sad death of his dear son 
Ferdinand. 

Prospero smiled strangely and said : " I have the 
same loss in my dear daughter." 



S08 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" Oh, heavens ! " cried Alonso, " that they were 
both living in Naples, the King and Queen there ! 
Gladly would I myself be in the muddy bed where 
my son lies." 

Then Prospero asked them to look into his cell, 
which he said was his Court. There, seated com- 
fortably together and playing chess, were the lost 
Ferdinand and the beautiful Miranda. 

" Sweet lord, you play me false," Miranda 
said. 

" No, my dearest love ; I would not for the world," 
answered Ferdinand. 

" Is this a vision of the island ? " cried Alonso ; 
and at his voice Ferdinand started up, and, rushing 
out, knelt at his father's feet. 

*' The seas were merciful. I have cursed them 
without cause." 

" Now all the blessings of a glad father be with 
them," said Alonso, overcome with joy. 

Miranda, too, stepped out of the cave, an3 gazed 
at the company in wonder and delight. 

" Oh, wonder ! how many goodly creatures are 
there here ! How beauteous mankind is ! Oh, brave 
new world that has such people in it ! " 

While the lords were thinking what a wonderful 
island this was, to be inhabited by so lovely a lady, 
Alonso asked if she were the goddess who had 
brought them all together, and how his son came 
to be playing chess with her. 

Then Ferdinand took Miranda's hand and led her 
to her father. " Sir„ she is mortal ; and, thank 




Miranda. "Yes, for a score of kingdoms you would wrangle, 
And I would call it fair play." 



THE TEMPEST 209 

Heaven ! she has promisee! to be mine. She is the 
daughter of this famous Duke of Milan." 

Alonso kissed Miranda, and asked her forgiveness 
for the ill he had done her father; and old Gonzalo, 
coming forward, blessed the young people. Miranda 
was delighted to be able to thank the kind old man 
who had befriended them in their need. 

Then, that nothing should be wanting to their 
joy, Ariel brought to that spot all the sailors of 
the ship, and they learnt how all was in order on 
the royal, gallant ship, and that the strange tempest 
had really done no harm, nor were any lost. 

After this Ariel was sent to release Caliban and 
his two groaning companions. When they limped 
in, everyone laughed to see Stephano and Trincolo 
decked out in gorgeous apparel, but looking bat- 
tered and miserable, and rubbing their knees and 
backs as if full of cramps. Caliban gazed with awe 
at his master and the other grand nobles. 

" Oh, these be brave spirits indeed 1 How fine my 
master is! I am afraid he will punish me. What 
a thrice-double ass was I to take this drunkard for 
a god! I will be wise hereafter." 

When Prospero ordered him to get the cell ready 
and prepare a handsome banquet, he hurried off 
quickly. 

Prospero turned to the King and said : " Sir, I 
invite your Highness and your company to my poor 
cell, where you shall rest for this one night, and 
where I will tell you some of the story of my life, 
and how I came to this isle. Then to-morrow I will 



210 SHAI^SPEARE'S STORIES 

bring jou to jour ship, and we will sail to Naples, 
where the wedding of these dearly beloved ones shall 
be celebrated." 

And so it happened. 

The next morning beheld a beautiful cal^i-aea, 
and on it sailed a fine and stately ship bearing th^ 
King and his nobles and Prospero, with Ferdinand 
and Miranda, away to Italy; while Ariel and his 
companions did a last good service to their master 
by blowing fine breezes, and keeping all sunny and 
smooth out at sea. On the island, looking after the 
departing ship, lay Caliban, full length, sunning 
himself. Now at last he had his island to himself; 
only Ariel and his sprites sometimes flew round that 
way, and made sweet music in the air. 



KING LEAR 

CHAPTER I 

\ LONG time ago there reigned in Britain an old 
'^^^ King, Lear by name. He began to feel that 
the burden of his kingdom and affairs of state were 
too much for his strength, ^nd so he decided to retire, 
and divide his kingdom between his three daughters. 
The eldest daughter, Goneril, had for husband the 
gentle Duke of Albany ; the second, Regan, was mar- 
ried to the Duke of Cornwall; while Cordelia, the 
youngest, still unmarried, had two wooers, the King 
of France and the Duke of Burgundy. The King, 
her father, had not yet decided which of these two 
suitors he wished her to accept. 

King Lear called a Court of his most distinguished 
noblemen, among them his old friends the Earl of 
Kent and the Earl of Gloucester; also he summoned 
his two eldest daughters and their husbands, and 
bade the fair Cordelia, his favourite, be present, and 
also the two noble gentlemen who sought her hand, 
for they should then have their answer. 

When all were assembled in the fine old hall, speak- 
ing from his throne. King Lear announced his inten- 
tion of resigning and dividing his kingdom, and bade 

his daughters say how much they loved him, that 

211 



212 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

he might give to them lands in proportion to their 
declaration of love. 

Goneril, as the eldest, was bidden speak first. 

She found this quite easy, and protested that her 
father was dearer to her than anything, " life, grace, 
wealth, beauty, or honour," and poor old Lear, 
pleased with her ready words, portioned out to her 
a large extent of rich land, shadowy forests, and 
plenteous rivers. 

Then he turned to Regan : " What says our sec- 
ond daughter, our dearest Regan? " 

Regan had listened carefully to all her elder sister 
said, and had marked what a good reward accom- 
panied flowery speech; so she was nothing loath to 
try her tongue at this game, determined if possible 
to get a bigger portion than had Goneril. 

She therefore smiled sweetly, and announced that 
all her sister had said was excellent, only she fell 
far too short. For herself she was an enemy to any 
other joy, and only found happiness in his dear 
Highness's love. 

And she had her reward — an ample third of the 
fair kingdom. King Lear now turned to Cordelia, 
" his joy, last though not least." Now she was to 
try and draw from him a portion more opulent than 
that of her sisters. What could she say.? 

Cordelia had listened with dismay and sorrow to 
her dear old father's plan, and heard her sisters 
vaunt their love for gain with disgust. Her love 
was too true and deep to be thus bargained for ; she 
determined to love and be silent. So, in answer to 







> ^ 



o a 



s 



KING LEAR 213 

her father's question, she made a deep curtsey, and 
said : " Nothing." 

" Nothing? " cried the King, thinking he heard 
wrongly. 

" Nothing," again said Cordelia. 

" Nothing will come of nothing ! " warned her 
father. " Speak again ! " 

" Unhappy that I am ! " cried Cordelia. " I can- 
not heave my heart into my mouth. I love your 
Majesty according to my bond; no more nor 
less." 

" How, now, Cordelia ! mend your speech a little, 
lest you may mar your fortunes." 

King Lear was most disappointed that this, his 
favourite child, should find no flattering words with 
which to please him. The two sisters looked at each 
other and smiled, not ill pleased that Cordelia should 
mar her fortunes — it might mean more to them. 
Some of the nobles frowned with their master, but 
the good old Earl of Kent shook his head gravely; 
he understood Cordelia. 

Cordelia looked with sad eyes at her father — the 
more she felt she loved him, the more impossible was 
it for her to enter this ill-timed competition. So 
would she never condescend to win any portion of his 
favour or his kingdom. 

" I love you," she said simply, " obey you, and 
honour you. But haply, if I wed, I shall also love 
my husband. Why have my sisters husbands if they 
love my father all? " 

King Lear did not the least like this argument ; he 



214 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

wanted flattery and he called it love. So severely, 
he said: 

" So young, and so untender? " 

'' So young, my lord, and true," answered Cor- 
delia firmly. 

" Let it be so ; thy truth, then, be thy dower." 

King Lear rose from liis throne in wrath, and bid- 
ding Cordelia leave his sight, for he considered her 
no more his daughter, he divided her portion between 
her two sisters, giving them all his power and for- 
tune, only would he keep for himself and his state 
one hundred knights, and they and he should live 
with his two daughters month by month, and enjoy 
their love and hospitality. 

At this most unwise decision Kent came forward 
and urged his royal master to pause. 

Lear was too angry to listen to anyone, and bade 
Kent be silent. 

" Nay," said the faithful Earl, " be Kent unman- 
nerly when Lear is mad. Reserve thy state, check 
this hideous rashness. My life shall answer that 
thy youngest daughter does not love thee least." 

But all in vain he spoke. Lear, growing ever 
more angry at any contradiction, drew his sword on 
Kent, and when Albany and Cornwall interfered to 
prevent murder, Lear banished the old Earl for ever 
from the kingdom ; should he be found within its 
borders ten days from that time, that moment should 
be his death. 

" Fare thee well, King," said Kent, and turning 
to Cordelia: 



KING LEAR 215 

** The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, 
That rightly think'st, and hast most rightly said." 

Then to Goneril and Regan he s;poke: 

" And your large speeches may your deeds approve. 
That good eiFects may spring from words of love." 

Bowing to all the company, Kent then left the 
haU. 

Lear turned to the two gentlemen who professed 
to love his daughter Cordelia, and asked which of 
them now wanted her, unfriended and penniless.? 

The Duke of Burgundy said he was sorry, but 
since Cordelia had lost a father — and he meant a 
fortune — she must also lose him for a husband. 

Cordelia looked at him proudly. 

" Peace be with Burgundy. Since that respects 
of fortune are his love, I shall not be his wife." 

Then the King of France came forward, and, kiss- 
ing Cordelia's hand, he held it in his own. 

" Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poor ; 
most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised. 
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon. 

" Thy dowerless daughter. King, thrown to my chance. 
Is Queen of us, of ours, and our fair France ! " 

** Thou hast her, France," Lear answered wrathfully, 

** Let her he thine, for we 
Have no such daughter; nor shall ever see 
That face of hers again; therefore begone 
Without our grace, our love, our benison. 
Come, noble Burgundy ! " 



gl6 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

And King Lear and his nobles swept from the 
Court. 

" Bid farewell to your sisters," the King of France 
said to Cordelia. And Cordelia, turned to her sis- 
ters, who regarded her with scornful looks. She 
bade them love their father and show in truth all the 
love they had professed. 

" Prescribe not us our duties ! " answered Regan 
haughtily, while Goneril turned away without a 
word. Truth to tell, both these elder sisters were 
rather displeased that so powerful a King had chosen 
Cordelia in spite of her poverty. 

Then, with great love and kindness, the King of 
France led away Cordelia, and comforted her for 
the unkindness of others. When they were gone, 
Goneril turned to Regan and spoke low and quickly: 

" Sister, we have much to say to one another. 
Our father will leave here to-night " 

" Yes — with you 1 " said Regan quickly. " Next 
month with us." 

'^ You see how full of changes he is," went on 
Goneril. '^ He always loved Cordelia most, and yet 
with what poor judgment he hath now cast her off." 

'' It is the infirmity of his age," said Regan con- 
temptuously. 

" Yet he hath ever but little known himself. Such 
unconstant starts are we like to have from him as 
this of Kent's banishment." 

The two sisters, with no thought in their hearts 
of the love they had been so ready to talk about, 
decided that they must work together in this matter, 



KING LEAR 217 

and not let their old father and his weak wayward- 
ness disturb their lives and their peace. 

So they parted for the time being, and went to 
their own castles, and King Lear and his hundred 
knights set out in the company of Goneril and the 
Duke of Albany. 

CHAPTER II 

A month had scarce passed in the Castle of Albany 
when Goneril began to think it a great nuisance that 
so large a train as one hundred knights should attend 
on her old father. 

They went hunting together; they came in and 
called for food and drink as they felt inclined. His 
Fool — for every royal person or nobleman must 
needs have a Fool in those days to make jokes 
for him — was always making fun of the situation, 
" Nuncle Lear," as he called his master, having given 
away all his possessions. And Goneril began to 
think it was time to show her father that since he 
had given up his power to her, she was going to use 
it, and have things go her way, not his. " Idle old 
man," she said, " that still would manage those 
authorities that he hath given away." 

She bade her servants, and one special fellow, 
Oswald, be negligent when the old King called him; 
tell him, if he should ask for her, that she could not 
come, and she would see to it that he had rewards, 
not punishment. 

In those old days the large hall of the big castles 



218 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

would be open to any man who sought to take serv- 
ice with the lord, and so into this hall of the Duke 
of Albany's castle walked a stranger. He had on 
the stout leather jerkin, the strong, useful breeches 
and high leather boots worn by the fighting retainer 
of those days ; his skin was dark, as though much 
exposed to the weather^ and a short sword worn in 
a belt seemed as though it had seen service. He 
looked round the empty hall and waited for the com- 
ing of the old King, and as he waited he thought: 
" If I can change my speech as I have changed my 
likeness, then may my plan prosper, and I can serve 
my old master." 

For this rough-looking man was none other than 
the banished Earl of Kent, who had thus disguised 
himself to help, if need be, the King, who he guessed 
would need helping. 

When Lear and his knights returned from the 
hunt, they called for dinner to be served quickly, 
and Lear told the servant Oswald to tell his daugh- 
ter he would speak with her. 

Oswald answered rudely, and the King, who lost 
his temper very quickly, struck him ; and the 
stranger, indignant at his rudeness to the King, 
tripped him up as he was leaving the room. This 
pleased Lear, who at once engaged him as one of 
his followers. 

Then in came Goneril, frowning at the noise, and 
determined to show her father that she was going to 
be all the mistress of the power he had given her. 

The Fool began to make jokes, saying some very 



KING LEAR S19 

home truths, when Goneril cut him short, and turn- 
ing to the old King gave him a good lecture. She 
told him, as he was old so should he be wise, but that 
there he kept a hundred disorderly, bold knights 
making her palace hke a riotous inn 1 This she could 
not allow. He must dismiss half his followers, and 
keep only such men as suited his age. 

" Darkness and devils ! " called out old Lear. 
*' Saddle my horses, call my train together ! We 
have still a daughter ! " 

The Duke of Albany, a very gentle, peaceable 
man, not much fitted for those rough times, and not 
at all well matched with his imperious, hard-hearted 
wife, came in to see what was the matter, and pray 
the King be patient. 

Lear was not in that mood, and paid very little 
attention to Albany, who he knew had no influence. 
Cursing first his own folly, and then Goneril, and 
wishing that she might have a baby and be made 
to feel " how sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to. 
have a thankless child," he hurried from the hall, 
and called his knights to mount, and away to Regan's 
castle. Before he left he despatched his new serv- 
ant with a letter, to warn his daughter of his ap- 
proach, and urged him to be speedy. 

Goneril also, wishing her sister to know how mat- 
ters stood, hurried off Oswald with a letter; and 
then calmed her anxious husband, who meekly 
remonstrated with her, telHng him his " milky gentle- 
ness " led him to be " more blamed for want of wis- 
dom, than praised for harmful mildness." 



^20 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

For herself she quite well knew what game she 
wished to play, and felt sure that sister Regan would 
agree to play the same. 

And, indeed, when Regan and her husband, the 
Duke of Cornwall, read the letters, they determined 
not to be at home to receive the old King, and hur- 
ried off to the Earl of Gloucester's castle, the two 
messengers being commanded to follow them. 



CHAPTER III 

Now something must be said of this Earl of 
Gloucester and his two sons. One, the elder, Ed- 
gar, was a fine soldierly young man, of a great 
simplicity of character, while the younger one, 
Edmund, was always scheming and lying, and seek- 
ing by every means to make up for his lack of for- 
tune at not being bom the elder. He found two 
very easy persons to deceive, and set against each 
other, in his father and brother. Thus he hoped 
to get his brother killed, or banished, and himself 
succeed to the earldom and estates. 

He told his brother that their father was enraged 
against him; that if he would keep out of the way 
for a time he, Edmund, would strive to make peace. 
And to their old father he pretended that Edgar, 
anxious to be Earl at once, was plotting against his 
life. 

Both believed these stories. Edgar went into 
hiding, his brother only knew the place ; and Glou- 



KING LEAR 221 

cester, being shown false letters, sent out servants 
to find him, and bring him back prisoner. 

Edgar, warned by cunning Edmund, fled from 
the tree which had been his hiding-place, near his 
father's castle, and went forth alone into the dreary 
desolation of the country around ; a country, in those 
days, not cultivated and settled up as now, with 
little towns and villages, churches and inns, every 
few miles, but a great stretch of waste land, bare 
and desolate — no food to be found but the wild 
berries, no roof but the shelter of some cave or the 
shade of a tree. Even here Edgar felt he was not 
safe, and so he tore his clothes and stained his face 
and person, made his hair look wild and unkempt, 
with straw plaited in it, and then he wandered forth, 
singing snatches of songs, and calling himself " Poor 
Tom, the lunatic ! " so hoping to escape detection, 
and also obtain alms from any small farm or sheep- 
cote that he might come across. 

Edmund now had the coast clear, and when the 
Duke of Cornwall and Regan arrived at his father's 
castle, he played the part of good boy; and as he 
was of a very handsome person, and had a smooth 
and flattering manner, the guests were greatly taken 
with him, and promised him their protection; also 
they sympathized with the Earl on having so wicked 
an eldest son, whose death, they decided, would be 
well deserved. 

The two messengers, Kent and Oswald, arrived at 
the same time at Gloucester's castle; and Kent, hat- 
ing the rogue who had insulted his master, and who 



22S SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

also was the bearer of Goneril's letter to Regan, 
which he guessed had made her and the Duke of 
Cornwall very cold in their reception of himself, fell 
to abusing Oswald, and finally gave him a good beat- 
ing. On this Regan and her following came out of 
the castle, and ordered Kent — whom of course they 
did not recognize — to be put in the stocks : an 
unpleasant punishment much used in olden days, 
being a wooden bench with two holes in a board in 
front, into which the victim's legs were placed, and 
there locked for as long as the punishment lasted. 
The unfortunate one was helpless, and often pelted, 
by any who bore him malice, with any missile they 
fancied, from sticks and stones to rotten eggs. 

The Earl of Gloucester objected to this form of 
punishment for one who was the King's messenger, 
but Regan and her husband said they would take 
all responsibility ; they, too, intended to give old 
Lear a lesson, and thought it a good plan to begin 
by insulting his messenger. 

So when the King and his knights came to the 
castle (having gone first to Regan's home, and fol- 
lowed on to Gloucester's, much wondering at the 
sudden flight), the first thing they found was poor 
Kent sitting in the stocks, though, being very tired, 
he was fast asleep. One may imagine how it en- 
raged King Lear to find his servant in such a plight. 
He would not believe it — it could not be ! The 
insult to his messenger was a gross one to himself; 
he stormed into the castle, calling out for his daugh- 
ter and her husband and Gloucester. 



KING LEAR 223 

The Fool, as usual, made his jest over the pre- 
dicament : 

" Fathers that wear rags, 

Do make their children blind. 
But fathers that bear bags 

Shall see their children kind ! " 

Poor old Lear was beginning to find that not only 
his daughters, but even his knights, were not kind; 
now all power had left him, many of them had 
slipped away on the journey. They thought to offer 
their services to one going uphill, not to a poor old 
man going down so fast! 

Gloucester came out with the King and made ex- 
cuses for the others : " they were tired," " they were 
sick," " they had travelled all night." 

Old Lear burst out: 

" Vengeance ! plague ! death ! confusion ! Why 
Gloucester, Gloucester! Fetch me a better answer." 

" I would have all well betwixt you," said Glou- 
cester anxiously. He was really sorry for all this 
trouble, but he was under the Duke of Cornwall, and 
the poor King had no one under him ! 

However, he persuaded Regan and her husband to 
come out and receive the King; and Regan began 
somewhat kindly by saying : " I am glad to see your 
Highness ! " 

This cheered Lear somewhat. " Regan, I think 
you are, I know what reason I have to think so. 
Beloved Regan, thy sister's naught; Oh, Regan, she 
hath tied sharp-toothed unkindness like a vulture 



2S4 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

here ! " and he put his hand on his heart, trembling 
with pity for himself. " I can scarce speak to thee ; 
thou'lt not believe it " 

But Regan looked at her father coldly. 

" I cannot think my sister in the least would fail 
her obligation. If, sir, perchance she have re- 
strained the riots of your followers, it is on such 
grounds, and to such wholesome ends, as clears her 
from all blame." 

" My curse on her ! " thundered old Lear. 

" Oh, sir, you are old," went on Regan, rather 
scornfully. " You should be ruled and led by some 
discretion that discerns your state better than your- 
self. Therefore I pray you that to our sister 
you do make return; say you have wronged her, 



Sir." 



" Ask her forgiveness ! " shouted the old King, 
and began to curse Goneril. 

Regan shrugged her shoulders, saying: 

" So will you wish on me, when the rash mood is 



on." 



Lear tried to soften his words. His dear Regan 
would never treat her poor old father as had done 
Goneril! She would not cut down his train, and 
grudge his pleasures ; she had not forgotten the half 
of the kingdom he had given her. 

Just then a trumpet sounded, and Regan turned 
to welcome her sister, whose letter had warned her 
she would follow it. Poor old Lear! now he felt 
indeed forsaken, for Regan greeted her sister af- 
fectionately, just as though she were not the least 



KING LEAR 225 

angry at the way in which he had been treated. And 
that soon turned out to be the case ; as the Fool had 
warned the King, they were as like one crab to an- 
other crab, and he might storm or plead, curse or 
flatter, they told him he must reduce the number of 
his knights ; from a hundred they came down to fifty, 
then to twenty-five, then ten, then five, and finally, 
said Regan, " What need one ? the servants of the 
house could tend him?" 

" I gave you all ! " said their father sternly. 

" And in good time you gave it," they answered 
scornfully. 

Poor old Lear! both daughters against him! 
Both those who had so sworn, and over-sworn, their 
love and devotion. It did not do to think of his 
other child, his Cordelia, whom he had driven forth 
penniless, for lack of a flattering tongue. Now he 
was driven forth; his pride would never consent to 
the acceptance of such conditions as they offered, 
and there he was, " a poor old man ! as full of grief 
as age ; " and he might threaten to be revenged, to 
do such things as should be the terror of the earth! 
but he could do nothing, and they knew it, and he 
knew it, and he turned to the Fool, one of the very 
few faithful friends he had. 

" Oh, Fool ! I shall go mad," he said, and then 
went out followed by Kent, the Fool, and Gloucester. 

Gloucester returned to tell the daughters that the 
King had called to horse, and meant to go he knew 
not whither. 

But they did not care, and the Duke of Cornwall, 



226 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

who, unlike Albany, was hard as his wife, advised 
that the old man should go his way. 

" But," urged Gloucester pityingly, " the night 
comes on, and the high winds do sorely ruffle; for 
many miles about there's scarce a bush." 

" Oh, sir ! " answered Regan, *' to wilful men the 
injuries they themselves procure must be their 
schoolmaster. Shut up your doors." 

*' Shut up your doors, my lord," also urged Corn- 
wall. " 'Tis a wild night. My Regan counsels 
well; come out of the storm." 

So all of them turned into the warm hall, with its 
blazing fires of logs, and its couches covered with 
skins, and to the well-laden table, shutting the great 
doors and drawing the portcullis, and leaving the 
poor old King, with his Fool and Kent and a few 
knights, to wander forth in rage and despair — 
forth into the dark night and the wild storm. 



CHAPTER IV 

The storm raged furiously, thunder and light- 
ning and drenching rain. Out on the wild and bar- 
ren heath wandered the poor old King, not caring 
whither he went, unmindful of the storm, for that 
within him — rage and despair "- — waged yet a fiercer 
warfare. The Fool followed his rapid steps, but 
very unwillingly. " Good nuncle, in," he prayed, 
" and ask thy daughter's blessing ; here's a night 
pities neither wise man nor fool." 



KING LEAR 227 

But Lear heeded him not ; he strode round in the 
dark night, calHng on rain, wind, thunder, fire, to do 
their worst, for they were not his daughters, he had 
not given them liis kingdom. 

Kent also, wandering astray in the darkness of 
the storm, came up with them again, and having 
found a deserted, hovel, urged the King to at least 
take the humble shelter it offered ; but when the Fool 
entered first, he ran out again in a great panic, say- 
ing there was a spirit there that said his name was 
" Poor Tom ! " 

This was Edgar, Gloucester's unhappy son, who 
had also sought shelter in the miserable hut. 

Out he came, still feigning madness ; and Lear, by 
this time exhausted both in mind and body, asked if 
he also had two cruel daughters, who had brought 
him to his sad state. Sheltering there together in 
this poor place, they saw through the dark a lantern 
approaching, and heard a voice cry out to tell where 
they were. Kent went out and found that this was 
Gloucester, who, moved to pity, had followed Lear, 
and now entreated them all to come with him to a 
neighbouring farmhouse, where at least some more 
comfortable lodging might be found for the King 
and his attendants. But scarcely had they been 
placed there, than Gloucester returned to urge Kent 
to lose no time in hurrying the King away, and 
taking him to Dover, where he should meet the 
French army which was landing there with Cordelia, 
who came to rescue her father ; for Gloucester told 
him he had just discovered a plot to murder the 



2S8 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

King and all his followers, the two wicked daughters 
having heard of the arrival of the French army to 
obtain his release. 

Poor old Lear, worn out in mind and body, his 
wits now as gone as Edgar feigned his to be, had 
at last fallen asleep, and his good friend Kent and 
faithful Fool placed him on a litter and bore him 
hurriedly away, guarded by some of Gloucester's 
men. 

At the castle strange and terrible things were 
happening. The false son, Edmund, ever seeking 
how he might rise, betrayed his father's kindness to 
King Lear to the Duke of Cornwall and the cruel 
daughters ; and they, indignant at their wicked plans 
being thwarted, sent Oswald and other servants to 
fetch the Earl of Gloucester, and bring him bound 
before them, promising Edmund at the same time 
to befriend him, and make him Earl in his father's 
place. 

Goneril returned then to her own castle, having 
shown special favour to Edmund, thinking this false 
son a much finer man than her gentle husband. She 
went to summon all the soldiers from her half of the 
kingdom to join forces to march to Dover. 

When Gloucester was seized and bound his sur- 
prise was great ; here was he in his own castle, a 
prisoner and called " traitor " by his guests ! Re- 
gan insulted him, and plucked at his grey beard. 

" Where hast thou sent the King? " they shouted. 

" To Dover," answered Gloucester firmly. 

"Wherefore to Dover .f^" demanded Regan. 



KING LEAR 229 

" Because I would not see thy cruel nails pluck 
out his poor old eyes, nor thy fierce sister in his 
anointed flesh stick boarish fangs ! " Gloucester 
turned on her with indignation : " But I shall see 
the winged vengeance overtake such children ! " 

*' See it shalt thou never ! " angrily declared Corn- 
wall, and then and there he stabbed out one of Glou- 
cester's eyes. 

'' The other, too ! " called out Regan in cruel tones. 

But one of Cornwall's servants, aghast at such 
cruelty, bid his lord hold his hand, and interfered 
with him. 

" How now, you dog ! " shouted Cornwall, draw- 
ing his sword on him. 

They began to fight, when Regan, seizing another 
sword, rushed at the brave servant and ran him 
through from behind, and with a moan he fell dead. 

Then Cornwall in his wicked fury turned again on 
the poor bound Gloucester, and thrust out his other 
eye, 

"Where's: my son, Edmund.?" called the poor 
man. 

" Thou call'st on him that hates thee," answered 
Regan scornfully. " It was he that made the over- 
ture of thy treason to us, who is too good to pity 
thee." 

" Oh, my follies ! " groaned poor Gloucester ; 
" then Edgar was abused. Kind gods ! forgive me 
that and prosper him." 

" Go," ordered Regan ; " thrust him out of the 
gates, and let him smell his way to Dover." 



230 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Then she turned her attention to her lord, who had 
been wounded in the fight with his servant, and she 
led him out of the room to his bed. The other 
servants tried to help the poor blind Gloucester, 
and washed his bleeding face, and put on oint- 
ment, then led him out of his own castle, declaring 
they would not serve so wicked a master as Cornwall. 

On the heath Gloucester dismissed his guide with 
kind words ; he was beyond help, and the fact of be- 
ing kind to him would bring anyone into trouble. 

" You cannot see your way," the man urged. 

" I have no way, and therefore want no eyes. I 
stumbled when I saw. Ah, dear son Edgar ! Might 
I but live to see thee in my touch, I'd say I had eyes 
again." 



55 



And Edgar, the pretending lunatic " poor Tom, 
heard his father's words ; for he was still wandering 
about the heath, waiting to see what would happen, 
and with horror he recognized his father in this poor 
blind man. 

Gloucester heard someone approaching. 

"Who's there?" he asked. 

" It is poor mad Tom," answered the servant. 

" In the storm last night I saw such a fellow," 
said Gloucester, for Edgar had been with King Lear ; 
and then he asked the man to meet him again on 
the road to Dover, and bring some garments to 
cover the poor half-naked madman, for he would get 
him to lead him. to Dover. " Knowest thou the 
way? " he asked. 

Edgar assured him, still in the mad way of poor 



KING LEAR 231 

Tom, not wishing as yet to discover himself to his 
father, that he knew every stile and gate, every horse- 
way and footpath, that led to Dover. In those days 
there were but few roads, and people walked or rode 
whenever they took a long journey, such as going to 
Dover was then. 

So blind Gloucester, leaning on poor Tom's arm, 
started out on his long walk. 

As they went, Edgar discovered that the place 
to which his father would be guided was a high clifF, 
bending over the deep sea which came right to its 
foot. " Bring me to the Ignm of it," he asked, " and 
from that place I shall no leading need." 

Then Edgar understood he meant to throw him- 
self over into the sea, and so end his misery. 

Edgar chose a very strange way to cure his father 
of this design. They were arrived near Dover, and 
walking in a broad field, when he pretended that they 
had reached the high clifF, that below lay the deep 
sea, so far below that the fishermen walking there ap- 
peared no bigger than mice, and the big ships looked 
like tiny boats. 

" I'll look no more," he said, " lest my brain turn 
and I topple down headlong." 

" Set me where you stand," Gloucester prayed, and 
then he thanked him, and gave him a heavy purse, 
bidding him farewell, and telling him to go away and 
leave him. 

Edgar pretended to do this, saying to himself that 
in this way he would cure his father's despair. 

And then, standing near by, he heard his poor 



232 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

blind father renounce the world, for he could no 
longer bear his life. " If Edgar lives," he added, 
" oh ! bless him." 

Then he flung himself forward, and the shock of 
thus falling on the hard ground deprived him for a 
minute of consciousness. 

Edgar, changing his voice and manner, came run- 
ning to his side, and was relieved to find him reviving 
and opening those poor blind eyes. 

" Ho, you sir ! — friend ! " he called. " Hear you, 
sir, speak ! What are you, sir " 

" Away, and let me die," moaned Gloucester, who 
thought he had indeed fallen some hundred feet, and 
lay now on the sands beneath. 

" Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, 
air, so many fathoms down precipitating, thou'dst 
shivered like an egg, but thou dost breathe, bleed'st 
not, art sound! Thy life's a miracle. Speak yet 
again 1 " 

" But have I fallen or no? " asked Gloucester 
wonderingly. 

The new Edgar explained that he had seen him 
fall from the dread summit of the chalky cliff above 
them, and then he pretended that the man from whom 
he had seen him part up above looked like a fiend 
with horns and a hideous face. Surely the gods 
had delivered him from a great danger ! 

Gloucester believed it all, and came to the conclu- 
sion that poor mad Tom, who had led his steps, 
must indeed have been sent by the devil, and since 
he had been saved in this marvellous way, he de- 



KING LEAR 2SS 

termined to bear bravely all afflictions as long as his 
life must last. 

So Edgar — the new friend with a new voice — 
offered to lead him towards Dover town, where they 
should hear news of the King and of the two armies, 
both French and English. 

CHAPTER V 

The English army had been collected together 
in all haste when the news had come to the Duke 
of Cornwall and Regan that the French army had 
really landed at Dover. Goneril also had raised the 
alarm, but she found her husband, the gentle Duke 
of Albany, deeply angered at the treatment they 
had shown the King. " Tigers, not daughters ! " 
they had been, he cried, and heaven would punish 
them. 

" Milk-livered man ! " was Goneril's answer ; and 
she told him that France spread his banners In the 
noiseless land, and he was to sound his drum and 
raise the army. 

There entered a messenger, come in hot haste 
from Regan. The Duke of Cornwall had died of 
the wound given by the servant who fought him, 
and when Albany heard why he had fought and of 
the putting out of Gloucester's eyes, he cried out: 

" Gloucester, I live to thank thee for the love thou 
show'd'st the King, and to revenge thy eyes." 

But since France was invading the land, he must 
take the command of the English army against the 



^34! SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

enemy; and since Cordelia, King Lear, Gloucester, 
and Kent were all with the French annj, he must be 
on the spot and see that further harm was not done 
to them, for the two cruel daughters and the false 
Edmund might be guilty of any wickedness. 

Poor King Lear had indeed arrived at the shelter- 
ing tent of his loving daughter Cordelia at Dover, 
but he was mad. All the rage and despair he had 
felt, all the hardships he had suffered, had been too 
much for him, and his mind had given way. 

Cordelia, in deepest grief, consulted a learned doc- 
tor, and he gave the King a soothing draught, which 
sent him into a deep and peaceful sleep, from which 
they hoped he might awaken in his senses ; and Cor- 
delia, having given orders to put on Ms kingly robes, 
watched by him with Kent and others of his faithful 
friends. When the time came to waken him from 
this life-giving sleep, soft music played, and Cor- 
delia bent down and kissed her father, saying: 

" Oh, my dear father ! Restoration hang thy 
medicine on my lips, and let this kiss repair those 
violent harms that my two sisters have in thy rever- 
ence made. How does my royal lord? How fares 
your Majesty? " 

Lear moved quietly, opened his eyes, no longer 
wild, and looked about him — at the rich hangings 
of the tent, at the fine cloak that wrapped him round, 
and then at the fair face of the lady who bent over 
him. 

" Pray do not mock me," he said gently. " I am 
a very foolish, fond old man, fourscore and upward, 



KING LEAR ^35 

not an hour more or less ; and, to deal plaml}^ I fear 
I am not in my right mind. Methinks I should know 
you and know this man, yet I am doubtful ; for I am 
mainly ignorant what place this is, and all the skill 
I have remembers not these garments ; nor I know 
not where I did lodge last night." Then he looked 
long at Cordelia. " Do not laugh at me," he said 
wistfully, " for as I am a man, I think this lady to 
be my child, Cordelia." 

Cordelia, tears running down her cheeks, but hap- 
piness in her heart that her dear father's wits again 
were righted, bent down ±o kiss him, saying : " And 
so I am, I am ! " 

She would not let him ask her pardon, nor talk of 
the grievous time that was past ; she led him gently 
and lovingly into another tent, where food had been 
prepared for them. 

The King of France was not with his army; he 
had very important business in his own land, but he 
had allowed his dear Queen to go to the rescue of 
her ill used father, and sent with her his best general 
and the flower of his army. 

Against this invading force came Albany, with 
the army from Goneril's lands ; and Edmund, made 
general by Regan when her husband died, now com- 
manded her soldiers. Regan had also made known 
her intention to marry Edmund, now called the Earl 
of Gloucester, and this did not please his sister, who 
had a plot to kill the kind Duke, her husband, and 
marry Edmund herself. 

Against these combined troops France fought in 



236 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

vain. Cordelia, who, for no reason of ambition, but 
for " love and her aged father's rights," had brought 
thither France's armj, had the deep grief of finding 
it all in vain. She and the poor old King, but so 
lately restored to his right senses, were both taken 
captive and brought before Edmund — the kind Al- 
bany not being there as yet — and were by him or- 
dered off to prison. Then he called aside a cap- 
tain, and gave him another order — an order that 
he and Regan had together decided upon — to pre- 
vent any possibility of Albany being what they con- 
sidered weak! 

Lear, happy in having regained his beloved daugh- 
ter, cheerfully bade her : " Come, let's away to 
prison. We two alone will sing like birds i' the 
cage." With her he cared not where he went. 

In the meantime Edgar, disguised as a knight, had 
sent a challenge to Edmund bidding him come out 
and fight, for he charged him with being a traitor. 
Before this he had told his father who he was, and 
asked his blessing; but the news was too much for 
the poor blind Earl in his weak state. He was so 
excited at finding his dear son whom he had doubted 
and wronged that his overjoyed heart burst, and 
he died in Edgar's arms, blessing him. 

This event, which cannot be considered sad, since 
it released the much-suffering Gloucester, made Ed- 
gar feel all the more determined to punish the false 
son and false brother, traitor indeed to those who 
had loved and trusted him. 

The Duke of Albany having arrived and heard of 



KING LEAR 237 

the challenge, bade the heralds blow their trumpets 
three times to summon the knight who had accused 
Edmund of being a traitor. Regan and Goneril and 
all the chief officers of the army were present. Re- 
gan, who showed in all ways her love for Edmund, 
and thereby had made Goneril hate her, had to be 
taken away before the fight commenced, for she said 
she felt very ill. Goneril, with a wicked look at her 
sister, said to herself : " If not, I'll ne'er trust medi- 
cine." Determined that no one but herself should 
marry the handsome Edmund, she had given her sis- 
ter poison, and hoped that Edmund would follow 
her advice, and in some dark deceitful way manage 
to have her husband killed. The letter giving this 
counsel had been brought to the hands of Albany, 
so he knew what he had to expect, both from Ed- 
mund and his wife, and in his calm, quiet way he just 
watched to see how events would turn. Should the 
strange unknown knight fail to appear, he himself 
would fight with Edmund, for he also, and with good 
cause, called him " traitor." 

But the third blast of the trumpets brought on 
the field a knight with his vizor down, and when the 
herald demanded whom he would fight, he answered: 
" Edmund, Earl of Gloucester." 

Edmund asked what he had to say against him, 
and Edgar charged him with being " false to thy 
brother and thy father, conspirant against this high 
illustrious Prince, and from the extremest upwards 
of thy head, to the descent and dust below thy foot, 
a most toad-spotted traitor ! " 



S38 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

So they fought, and Edmund fell, sorely wounded. 

Goneril rushed to his side, shouting that he could 
not be vanquished; he had surely been bewitched! 

Sternly Albany bade her be silent, and he showed 
her the letter she had written to Edmund, and then 
gave it to the fallen man to make him understand 
his treachery was known. 

Goneril looked at Edmund, mortally wounded at 
her feet ; at her husband, with his stern face and her 
base letter in his hand; she thought of her sister, 
probably dead at that moment from the poison she 
had given her; and then, with her head high and her 
lips scornful, she passed into her tent. 

She was no coward ; she had played a losing game. 
Now all was lost, and, drawing a little jewelled dag- 
ger, she put an end to herself. 

Edmund, feeling that his life-blood was fast flow- 
ing, confessed that he had done all that of which he 
was accused, and more besides, and asked who it was 
had overcome him? 

Then Edgar took off his helmet, and told them 
how he had escaped by pretending to be a madman, 
how he had found his poor blind father, and led him 
to Dover, and finally how that poor father's heart 
had burst with joy on finding the son he had driven 
away from him. 

While they were thus talking, Kent came hurriedly 
to the Duke of Albany and asked where was the 
King? Albany started. 

" Great thing of us forgot 1 " he cried. 



KING LEAR 239 

" Speak, Edmund, where's the King, and where's 
Cordelia? » 

Edmund tried to raise himself, the blood flowed 
from his wound, and he fell back. 

" I pant for life," he whispered ; but again he 
struggled up and gasped out : " Some good I mean 
to do, despite of mj own nature. Quickly send to 
the castle, for my writ is on the life of Lear and 
Cordelia. Nay, send in time." 

" Run, run, oh run ! " cried Albany. 

Edgar hurried off with Edmund's sword, as a to- 
ken to the prison captain.. 

But, alas ! alas ! Already in the prison a murder- 
ous wretch had killed the fair Cordelia, and the poor 
old King, strong suddenly in defence of his dear 
daughter, had killed him. So they found them, when 
Lear, seeing the prison door opened, raised the body 
of Cordelia, and carried her out into the open, his 
feeble arms scarce feeling the weight. 

They gathered round him, the faithful Kent kneel- 
ing at his feet. " Oh, my poor master ! " he wept. 

But Lear thought only of Cordelia ; he called for 
a glass that he might see if her breath clouded it. 
He bade her stay a little, then holding her close to 
him, he cried: 

" Thou'lt come no more, never, never, never, 
never, never ! " Then, bending over her, he quietly 
died. 

" He faints ! " called Edgar. " Look up, my 
lord!" 



MO SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

But Kent, with greater wisdom and greater love, 
said: 

" Vex not his spirit, oh, let him pass ; he hates him 
that would upon the rack of this tough world stretch 
him out longer." 

So, reverently, they bore away the bodies of the 
old King and the fair Cordelia. 

Edmund was dead, Goneril and Regan both dead; 
and when Albany, turning to Edgar and Kent, 
begged them, as friends of his soul, to rule in the 
realm with him, Kent shook his head and answered; 

" I have a j ourney, sir, shortly to go ; 
My master calls me^ I must not say no." 

He, too, would leave, gladly leave this world that 
had proved so sad a place, and join the master he had 
always faithfully served. 

And^so ends the sad story of King Lear and his 
daughters — all the foolishness and wickedness and 
base ingratitude; but, like bright stars between the 
dark driving clouds of a stormy night, shines out 
the love of Cordeha, and the faithfulness of Kent. 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 

CHAPTER I 

TN the olden days, a few miles outside a beautiful 
■*• town in Greece called Athens, there was to be found 
a wonderful wood. It was not only the grand trees, 
the lovely glades, the mossy banks covered also with 
sweet-scented flowers, that made this wood wonder- 
ful, but, and this was not known to everybody, it was 
the favourite haunt of fairies. Oberon the King, 
Titania the Queen, and all their delightful, strange, 
and sometimes mischievous little people, loved that 
wood ; and by night, whether by moonlight or star- 
light, or in the blue-grey light before the sun rises, 
there, over the mossy banks, in and out of the sleep- 
ing flowers, under the quick-growing toadstools, these 
dear, bright little fairies flew and frolicked. 

Mortals were generally fast asleep in their own 
beds while the fairies made merry ; and even those 
who, for some cause or the other, found their way 
through the wood at night, had not always eyes open 
wide enough to see the fairies ; also, if the fairies do 
not wish to be seen, they can always make themselves 
invisible. 

But the fairies can see and hear the mortals, and it 

241 



£4£ SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

is of that our story tells us, one niglit of midsummer, 
long ago in the land of Greece. 

It so happened that at this particular time Oberon, 
the Fairy King, was having a very desperate quarrel 
with his Queen, Titania. 

She had taken a little Indian boy, whose mother 
she had known, to be her little page, and Oberon 
wanted him, and would not give her any peace because 
she would not give him up. 

" The whole of Fairy-land," she said, " could not 
buy that boy of me." 

Oberon thought to try to get the boy from her 
by foul means, since fair means would not answer. 

So he called to his assistance Puck. 

Now Puck was not one of those light, gossamer, 
rainbow-tinted fairies, more like a soap-bubble than 
anything else — only a soap-bubble shaped like a 
tiny mortal, of course — he was a sturdy little fel- 
low, dressed in green and brown, and he wore a kind 
of hood with two rather large ears attached to it, 
which gave him a waggish look. He folded his little 
green wings so close to his back that you could hardly 
see he had any; but when he wanted to use them — 
flash ! and away he was ; no other fairy could fly so 
fast, and no steamer or aeroplane will ever be able 
to go with liis swiftness. We mortals can hardly 
think so fast. 

He was very useful to his lord, and when any joke 
or trick was needed Oberon always called for Puck. 

So now he summoned him, and Puck, seated cross- 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 243 

legged on the ground before him, under the shelter of 
a huge oak, listened to his orders. 

Oberon bade him fetch a little flower; it grew far 
away in a western land, and was called " love-in-idle- 
ness," and its juice had this magic quality — to 
make anyone on whose sleeping eyes it was laid love 
madly, and without any reason or sense, the first liv- 
ing creature they should behold on waking. 

" Fetch me this herb," said Oberon, " and be thou 
here again ere the leviathan can swim a league ! " 

" I'll put a girdle round about the earth in forty 
minutes," was Puck's answer ; and with one sudden 
spring and a flash of little green gossamer wings he 
was gone. 

Oberon smiled to himself as he thought how he 
would watch for Titania and play her this trick ; 
then, before he took the spell from off her eyes, which 
he could do with another herb, she should give him 
up the boy he so desired. 

As he sat, making a throne of the big trunk of the 
tree, he heard voices approaching — two mortals, a 
man and a maid, who were passing along the mossy 
path near by. Oberon wrapped round his glittering 
silver garments his invisible cloak, and waited to hear 
what was said. 

By their dress — for the moon shone clearly, and 
flecked all the wood with silvery light — he knew 
these night wanderers to come from the city of Ath- 
ens, and he soon heard how the man, with stern, un- 
kind words, bade the maid cease from following him. 



244 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

for he could not and would not love her. He had 
come to the wood to find another maid called Hermia, 
and she, whose name was Helena, and who followed 
him even as a dog, was hateful to his sight. 

The poor lady, weary with her long walk, still en- 
treated to be allowed to follow, to love; for had he 
not at one time loved her and gained her affection? 
though now, in most cruel way, he cast her off, and 
sought only the love of Hermia. 

Demetrius — for that was the name of this strange 
gentleman from Athens — threatened to do Helena a 
mischief if she still pursued him, and he went hastily 
down an overshadowed glade, the lady Helena fol- 
lowing, and declaring she did not care if she died by 
the hand she loved so well. 

As they disappeared beneath the trees Oberon un- 
folded his cloak and looked after them. 

" Fare thee well, nymph : ere he do leave this grove, 
thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love." 

Then, with a little rustle through the leaves, Puck 
alighted on the ground before Oberon. 

" Hast thou the flower? " 

" Ay, there it is," said Puck. 

" I pray thee give it me." 

Oberon looked at the little purple blossom fondly. 
Ah, the magic, the mad magic of it! Well was it 
called " love-in-idleness," for the love it gave was not 
of the true sort that serves the beloved; it was just 
unreasoning desire. 

Then Oberon sang, with the sweet bird-like trills 
of the fairy folk. 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 245 

" I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, 
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows; 
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine. 
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine: 
There sleeps Titania some time of the night, 
LuU'd in these flowers with dances and delight. 
And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes, 
And make her full of hateful fantasies." 

He broke off a little bit of the root Puck had 
brought him, and said: 

** Take thou some of it, and. seek through this grove: 
A sweet Athenian lady is in love 
With a disdainful youth: anoint his eyes; 
But do it when the next thing he espies 
May be the lady. Thou shalt know the man 
By the Athenian garments he has on. 
Effect it with some care, that he may prove 
More fond of her than she upon his love: 
And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow." 

Puck took the little flower and bowed low ; then he 
sprang upwards. 

" Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so ; " 
and was gone. 

Quickly Oberon flew to the place where Titania 
loved to rest, and there, indeed, Titania and her 
fairy attendants were assembled. 

Titania reclined on the mossy bank. So dainty 
and small was she that she scarcely crushed the little 
blue violets on which she lay her golden head, with its 
crown of sparkling dewdrops. The sweet-smelling 



246 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

thyme bent over her, the woodbine screened the 
silvery moonHght from her face, but it touched into 
jeweled brightness the satiny blue of her gown, made 
from the same loom as the speedwell's delicate blos- 
som. 

Her fairies were round her, and at first sight you 
might have mistaken them for flowers. Roses, sweet- 
peas, the blossoms of peach and apple and wild- 
cherry, were all used to make their bright and light 
clothing; while the elves were usually clad in the 
darker greens of leaves, and sometimes they even 
used the skins of little wild animals whom they killed, 
when they found them doing some mischief to the 
plants and flowers they tended. 

" Come, now a roundel and a fairy song," said Titania. 

" Then, for the third part of a minute, hence; 
Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds ; 
Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings 
To make my small elves coats ; and some keep back 
The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders 
At our quaint spirits." 

The fairies formed a ring round their Queen, danc- 
ing, over her and round her, flashing in and out of 
the moonbeams. Never was a prettier, lighter dance 
seen, for they had no need to keep, like mortal feet, 
tripping it only on the ground ; the air to them was 
soHd enough ; the moonbeams could be climbed as 
easily as a ladder. 

" Sing me now to sleep," said Titania drowsily ; 
" and then to your offices and let me rest." 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM Ul 

The leader of the singers began in a voice like a 
tiny silver whistle: 

** You spotted snakes, with double tongue. 
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen; 
Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong; 
Come not near our fairy Queen.'* 

And the chorus, like a chime of fairy bells, sang: 

" Philomel, with melody 
Sing in our sweet lullaby: 
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby; 
Never harm," 
Nor spell, nor charm. 
Come our lovely lady nigh: 
So, good-night, with lullaby.'* 

Titania's eyes closed, and her head sank back 
softly on the violets. 

" Hence away," said the chief attendant fairy, 
" now all is well. One, aloof, stand sentinel." 

A small elf in the dark green of the oak-leaves 
mounted guard, and when he saw Oberon fly down 
and bend gently over the Queen, he thought no harm, 
nor did he hear the soft whisper of his master's 
charm as he squeezed the flower- juice on Titania's 
eyes. 

*' What thou seest when thou dost wake. 
Do it for thy true-love take; 
Love and languish for his sake. 
Be it ounce, or cat, or bear, 
Pard, or boar with bristling hair, 



248 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

In thy eye that shall appear 
When thou wak'st, it is thy dear; 
Wake, when some vile thing is near." 

Waving his hand over his lovely sleeping Queen, 
away flew Oberon, full of delight at the mischief he 
was making. 



CHAPTER II 

Puck obeyed his lord. In a shady corner of the 
wood he espied a man's figure sleeping soundly with 
his head on his arm — an Athenian, by his dress, 
Puck saw; and there near by, on some fallen leaves, 
also fast asleep, lay the lady of whom Oberon had 
spoken. This must be the couple, thought Puck. 
Churlish fellow, to try and run away from so pretty 
a lady ! He bent over the man, and squeezed a little 
drop of the magic juice on each eyelid, feeling sure 
the first person he must see on waking would be the 
sleeping maiden. Then away he flew. 

But Puck had made a mistake. This was not the 
same Athenian, nor the same lady who had followed 
him through the wood. This was quite a diff^erent 
pair of lovers, and you must hear about them. 

Lysander was the name of the noble Athenian 
youth on whose eyes Puck had put the flower- juice. 
He was very deeply in love with the fair Hermia, 
who, with her green cloak wrapped around her long 
white robe, lay sleeping so quietly near by. 

But her stern father forbade this marriage, though 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 249 

Hermia returned Lysander's love most warmly. He 
told her she was to wed Demetrius, and, like the fa- 
thers of those days, he commanded his daughter to 
obey him, whether she liked it or no. All that her 
pleadings, and all Lysander's — who was as noble 
and as rich as Demetrius — could urge, were of no 
avail; Hermia was to wed Demetrius, or he could, 
and he would, shut her up in a convent, and she should 
wed nobody. 

Demetrius, who at one time had loved and wooed 
Hermia's friend Helena, now turned from her, and 
declared he would only marry Hermia, who did not 
love him, and thought he had treated her friend very 
badly. 

But what were all these poor distracted young 
people to do against the stern decrees of the hard- 
hearted father, who had even appealed to the Duke 
of Athens, Theseus, to confirm his right to do as he 
liked with his own daughter? 

Theseus, the Duke, was just about to celebrate 
his wedding with Hippolyta, the Queen of the Ama- 
zons, and his heart, being so full of love, might have 
held pity for lovers not so fortunate as himself; but 
he could not alter the law of Athens, and he there- 
fore counselled Hermia to obey her father and marry 
where she did not love, and he gave her until the 
next new moon, in four days' time, when he would 
celebrate his marriage with Hippolyta, to think over 
the matter and prepare to wed Demetrius. 

Lysander had another plan. He knew the course 
of true love never does run smooth, but he meant to 



£50 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

steer his course, through all difficulties, to victory. 
Therefore he comforted Hermia and told her of his 
idea. 

Seven leagues outside Athens, where its sharp laws 
did not hold sway, he had an aged aunt, rich and 
with no children, who loved him as her son. To her 
he would escape with Hermia, and there they would 
wed and live happily ever after. Hermia was to meet 
him secretly on the next night in the wood one league 
outside Athens, that wood where once he and she and 
Helena had gone on a May morning to greet the 
sun. 

Hermia remembered the wood quite well, and prom- 
ised to do as he wished. 

To comfort her friend Helena, who so mourned 
the loss of her false lover Demetrius, Hermia told 
her of their plan of escape, and that for good they 
would leave Athens, once so dear an abode to them. 
Perchance, thought Hermia, when she was gone 
Helena might regain the love of the fickle Demetrius. 
She had never given him anything but frowns and 
hate. So she wished her former playfellow farewell, 
and good-luck with her Demetrius. 

Poor Helena ! It might almost seem that the 
blinding magic of " love-in-idleness " Jiad affected her 
eyes, even though Puck had squeezed none of its juice 
on her lids ! 

Though Demetrius scorned her and sighed only 
for Hermia, who would none of him, yet Helena, with 
no pride, sought his company, and now in her un- 
happiness she even thought to gain favour with him 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 251 

by betraying to him the flight from Athens of Hermia 
and Lysander. He at once decided to follow them 
that next night to their meeting-place in the wood, 
and Helena, poor silly soul, determined to follow him. 

It was Demetrius, scolding Helena for continuing 
her pursuit of him, even at midnight, into the dark 
wood, that Oberon overheard ; and Puck, charged by 
his lord to squeeze the plant's juice on his eyes, 
searching through the glades, found, not Demetrius,; 
but Lysander fast asleep with the fair Hermia lying 
near by on a bank of leaves, and on to his uncon- 
scious eyes were the fatal "drops poured. 

In the dark shadows of the wood Demetrius had 
managed to escape from Helena, and she, wandering 
round, alone and frightened, came suddenly on the 
sleeping Lysander, and did not notice Hermia 
wrapped in her green cloak a little way off. 

She thought at first that Lysander must be dead, 
so still he lay; and catching his arm, she shook it, 
saying : 

" Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake." 

Lysander started up, rubbed his eyes and gazed at 
the kneeling Helena. He looked again, and yet 
again. How fair she was I how lovely was the pale 
gold of her hair encircling her sweet face ! Tired she 
looked, and those blue eyes had still the thought of 
tears in them. Hermia was dark, her eyes, too — 
dark and sparkling, and she was shorter than Helena ; 
how could he for one moment have thought of Her- 
mia, when this tall, fair lady, Helena, stood before 
him ? 



252 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

He sprang to his feet: 

" Awake ! and run through fire I will for thy sweet sake ! 
Where is Demetrius? Oh, how fit a word 
Is that vile name to perish on my sword." 

Helena looked a little astonished at the warmth 
with which he spoke, and answered gently : 

" Do not say so, Lysander — say not so ; 
What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what 

though ? 
Yet Hermia still loves you; then be content." 

Lysander answered quickly: — 

" Content with Hermia. No, I do repent 
The tedious moments I with her have spent. 
Not Hermia, but Helena now I love: 
Who will not change a raven for a dove ? " 

So well did the magic juice do its work! 

Helena looked at him aghast. What did this 
mean.f' Surely he was mocking her — he, who loved 
so dearly Hermia. Why should he spring up from 
sleep and address these wild, these wicked words to 
her.? 

Evidently he but mocked her; knowing Demetrius 
scorned her, he also chose this unkind way of show- 
ing his contempt. She turned away bitterly to leave 
him, but he followed her, protesting that indeed he 
loved but her, that Hermia was nothing to him. His 
eyes were open. 

As they went, Hermia awoke. She called out to 
Lysander that she had had an evil dream — a ser- 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 253 

pent had stung her. But no Lysander answered ; he 
was gone, and, in dismay, Hermia began to run 
through the wood, calling out his name. 



CHAPTER ni 

There were other mortals whom the shelter and 
seclusion of this wood had tempted out of Athens, to 
use it as a meeting-place. 

These too Puck encountered, and he nearly died 
of laughter when he overl\eard their talk, and listened 
to their plans. 

A company of very humble folk had determined 
to give their Duke a treat on his wedding-day, and 
they had arranged amongst themselves that this 
treat was to be a play, and that, in order to keep it 
very secret, they should meet in the wood, and there 
rehearse their parts. 

There was Quince the carpenter. Snug the joiner, 
Flute the bellows-mender. Snout the tinker, Starve- 
ling the tailor, and Bottom the weaver. 

By the light of the moon, they all crept quietly 
out of Athens and arrived at the Duke's oak and 
began to arrange their parts. 

The play on which they had fixed was a " most 
lamentable comedy " of Pyramus and Thisby — a 
sad tale in which, after but one meeting, and that 
through a chink in the wall, the lady arranges to 
meet her lover by moonlight at a tomb, but when 
Pyramus arrives at the spot he finds her torn mantle, 



254i SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

and concludes that a wicked lion has slain his lady- 
love and left only her cloak uneaten. In deep grief 
he stabs himself with his sword. Then in comes 
Thisby, for she has run away from the lion, and see- 
ing Pyramus dead, she also kills herself. 

Bottom, who was a very forward character and 
liked hearing himself speak, was chosen as the " lovely 
gentlemanlike man Pyramus " ; but he would also 
have hked to do the lady and the wall, and when 
they talked of the lion, why then he was quite sure 
he would roar so that the Duke should cry, " Let him 
roar again." 

" An you should do it too terrible, you would 
fright the Duchess and the ladies, that they would 
shriek — and that were enough to hang us all," said 
Quince, who was stage manager, and was trying to 
settle the parts. 

So Snug the joiner was bidden to do the lion, and 
he was " to roar as gently as any sucking dove." 

Flute was to act the part of Thisby, and speak 
in a monstrous little voice ; another was to be the 
wall, easily arranged if he had a little plaster or 
rough-cast upon him, and mentioned the fact that 
he was a wall, and his fingers should make the chink 
through which the lovers whispered. 

Then for the moon, in case the real one should not 
be shining, they considered that a man and a lantern, 
a bush and a dog, could not fail to be recognized 
as Moon ! for he, too, could say that he was there as 
Moon. 

They were getting on splendidly, with the green- 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 255 

sward under the big oak as their stage, when Master 
Puck flew by. 

" What hempen home-spun have we here," he said 
to himself, " so near the cradle of the Fairy Queen? " 

And when he found it was a play, he thought he 
could help to make that play even more amusing. 

So after Bottom had spoken his first lines as Pyra- 
mus, and had gone off the stage behind a bush as 
Thisby came on. Puck had ready a big ass's head, 
which he popped over Bottom's own rough hair, with- 
out his being aware that any trick had been played 
him. 

As he came forward again to make love to Thisby 
through the wall's fingers, they all started with hor- 
ror at the sight of him, and shrieking out that they 
were bewitched, they one and all rushed away through 
the wood, Puck after them, promising himself fine 
fun in leading them through bogs and briers, 
imitating noises of various beasts, to make them thor- 
oughly terrified. 

Bottom, in the meantime thought it was a silly 
joke of his comrades to frighten him, and sat down 
under the tree, beginning to sing to keep his spirits 
up, for he did not quite like being alone in the wood 
at night. 

It happened that the other side of the tree was the 
bank on which slept Titania, and Bottom's very noisy 
and unmusical song awoke her. 

The first thing she saw as she opened her eyes 
was this great clumsy figure, dressed in the rough 
working garments of a peasant, and on his shoulders 



^56 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

rested a donkey's head, with big furry ears, that he 
shook from side to side as he sang. 

But that is not the picture that Titania thought 
she saw or heard; the magic drops had changed her 
eyes, and, sitting up, she looked at this strange figure 
lovingly. 

" What angel wakes me from my flowery bed? " 
she said, and as Bottom finished his song she called 
to him : " I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again." 
And, coming in all her airy grace and beauty to him, 
she placed her tiny hand on his great ass's head, 
and assured him she loved him, and could not let him 
leave the wood: her fairies should wait on him, fetch 
him jewels, and sing to him. She called some of her 
attendants — Pease-blossom, Cobweb, Moth, and 
Mustard-seed — and these bright little people, 
dressed each in garments that looked like their names, 
bowed to their Queen's queer-looking new pet, and 
casting over him chains made of flowers' heads, they 
led him away to Titania's beautiful fairy bower. 
There she bade them get him new nuts, and catch the 
humble-bees, to bring for him their honey-bags. 
Sweet music was to sound and give him gentle sleep. 

Bottom took to all this petting very kindly. He 
much wondered that his face was so hairy and his 
ears so long, but when Titania stroked him, and 
Pease-blossom and Mustard gently scratched his 
head, he laid himself down on the flowery bank and 
slept quite happily. 

Oberon, who had been told by Puck how the magic 
worked, looked on this strange sight, and then asked 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 257 

Titania to give him up the boy he wanted, which 
Titania, so full of her new treasure, did at once, and 
Oberon hurried away with him. 



CHAPTER IV 

In flying through the wood Oberon asked Puck if 
he had managed to find the Athenian and put that 
little love affair straight. 

" Oh yes," said Puck. He had dropped the juice 
on the man's eyes when his lady-love was sleeping 
near. 

Just then by came Hermia, distractedly looking 
for Lysander, and Demetrius followed her, pleading 
with her to give him her love and think no more of 
Lysander. 

Hermia answered him fiercely, charging him with 
slaying her true-love while he slept. 

" No," said Demetrius, " I am not guilty of Lysan- 
der's blood, nor is he dead for aught that I can 
tell." And seeing that he could make no impression 
on Hermia, and being very tired, he let her wander 
on alone, and laid him down to rest. 

Oberon was angry with Puck, this was not the 
Athenian he had meant, and reproached him for 
having anointed the wrong man's eyes, and " some 
true-love turned, and not a false turned true." 

So Oberon bade him quickly seek for Helena of 
Athens and bring her to the spot; he would himself 



258 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

place the magic juice on Demetrius' eyes, so should he 
see the right lady when he woke. 

" I gO;, I go/' cried Puck, *' look how I go ; 
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow." 

Oberon had only just time to bend over Demetrius 
and put on his eyes the spell, when Puck was back, 
singing : 

** Captain of our fairy band^ 

Helena is here at hand^ 

And the youth mistook by me 

Pleading for a lover's fee. 

Shall we their fond pageant see? 

Lord ! what fools these mortals be ! " 
" Stand aside," said Oberon, *' the noise they make 

Will cause Demetrius to awake.'* 
" Then will two at once woo one," Puck laughed^ 
** That must needs be sport alone ; 

And those things do best please me 

That befall preposterously." 

So up on the bough of a tree sat the two fairies, 
and looked down, laughing at the discord of the mor- 
tals below. 

Helena came through the woods followed still by 
the magic-blinded Lysander, who protested his love 
for her, and she, angry and tearful, told him he 
mocked her, for he was Hermia's lover. 

" I had no judgment when to her I swore," said 
Lysander. 

" Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er," 
answered Helena. 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 259 

" Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you," he 
urged. 

Then Demetrius awoke, saw Helena, and springing 
to his feet, cried out : 

" O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine ! " and 
fell on his knees before her, praising her beauty and 
asking to kiss her wliite hand. 

But she held it up in horror — he, too, was begin- 
ning to mock her ! Did she not know well Demetrius 
hated her? Why had they plotted together to scorn 
her? Was it not bad enough that they should both 
love Hennia? Must they, also agree to make sport 
of poor Helena? 

Lysander, not understanding this change in De- 
metrius, also reproached him and bade him seek Her- 
mia, for he gave her up to him ; he now loved Helena 
only. 

But Demetrius protested that so did he, and all 
his love for Hermia had vanished. 

The two men looked angrily at one another, when 
through the trees, by the flickering moonlight, they 
saw Hermia running towards them. Overjoyed was 
she to find again her beloved Lysander: why had he 
so unkindly left her? 

Lysander thrust aside her hand that sought his. 

"Why should he stay whom love doth press to 
go? " he asked, turning from her to Helena. 

Hermia could not beheve her eyes, her ears ! Ly- 
sander, her lover, turn from her to Helena ! 

" You speak not as you think — it cannot be ! " 
she cried. 



S60 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Helena, seeing her distress, thought that she, too, 
was in the plot to mock her. Of course, both De- 
metrius and Lysander loved Hermla, and Hermia knew 
they did, and that they only pretended to love her; 
Hermla, therefore, was also only feigning distress. 
So thought and said poor Helena. 

And that mischievous little Puck, sitting on the 
bough above them, held his little fat sides with laugh- 
ter as he watched the trouble grow. For now the 
two friends, Hermia and Helena, began to misunder- 
stand each other and to quarrel. Hermia accused 
Helena of stealing her lover from her, and Helena, 
at first softly, then more and more wrathfully, said 
she was mocked by them all, and Hermia, whom she 
had always loved, had turned against her. But she 
would leave them, she would get her back to Athens ; 
the only wrong she had done Hermia was to tell 
Demetrius of her intended flight from Athens with 
Lysander. 

And between the two men hot words also passed; 
they abused the angry little Hermia, and both sought 
to protect Helena from her sharp words and to- 
soothe her grief. But this only made matters worse, 
and at last Demetrius challenged Lysander to come 
apart with him and fight ; so they went off, and Her- 
mia turned savagely on Helena. 

" You, mistress, all this evil is 'long of you, nay, 
go not back." 

But Helena would not stay ; she answered : 

" I will not trust you, I, 
Nor longer stay in your curst company. 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 261 

Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray^ 
My legs are longer though, to run away." 

And away she ran, Hermia after her. 

Oberon felt quite sorry for aU this turmoil and 
quarrelling ; he was a kind and gentle fairy, and since 
he had the boy he wanted, he would now make all 
matters run smoothly. He gave Puck some of the 
precious juice that would correct the bad effects of 
the " love-in-idleness," and which he now intended 
himself to apply to his Titania's eyes ; and he ordered 
Puck, the mischievous, who had thoroughly enjoyed 
himself, to part the combatants by darkness, and 
lead them away from each other, by mimicking their 
voices, so that Lysander might think he was follow- 
ing Demetrius through the sudden fog, and return 
the insulting shouts of " Coward ! " and " Runaway ! " 
made by Puck. This scheme answered well, and 
Demetrius and Lysander tore after Puck's voice, 
through brambles and pools, each one mistaking it 
for that of the other, and being led round and round 
in the darkness. 

Wearied out at last, they both decided to rest and 
wait for the light, when they could find and fall on 
each other; and the cunning Puck led them both to 
the same spot, a splendid sheltering tree with soft 
moss and starry flowers, and there, quite unknow- 
ingly, they slept within a few yards of each other. 

Then he turned his attention to the two poor 
maidens, who, frightened and angry, also wandered 
round in the mist. These, too, he led to that kind 
shelter, and Helena first, and then Hermia, dropped 



26S SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

on a bank of moss, all of them near each other, and 
all worn out with the long night that had brought to 
each one so many strange experiences. 

Puck, now that all slept, caused the dark fog to 
lift, and bending over Lysander, he squeezed the new 
flower- juice given liim by Oberon on to his eyes, say- 
ing: 

*' On the ground 

Sleep sound: 

I'll apply 

To your eye. 
Gentle lover^ remedy. 

When thou wak'st 

Thou tak*st 

True delight 

In the sight 
Of thy former lady's eye. 
And the country proverb known. 
That every man should take his own: 

Jack shall have Jill; 

Nought shall go ill. 
The man shall have his mare again 

And all shall be well." 

With this blessing Puck waved his hand over the 
sleeping mortals, and all the sorrow and weariness, 
hatred and fierceness, passed out of their spirits, and 
their faces showed calm and peaceful as those of 
little children; even their garments were restored 
from all the hard wear they had had, and looked new 
and clean. 

So they slept until the dawn. 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 263 

Oberon flew to Titania's bower: he might weU feel 
rather ashamed that his spell had caused the lovely 
Fairy Queen to fall in love with the uncouth mon- 
ster that poor Bottom looked with the ass's head 
over his own. But he smiled to himself, thinking of 
the little Indian page-boy safe in charge of his own 
attendants. He would make such sweet love to 
Titania that she should forgive him ; in fact, as she 
did not know of the part he had played, even thank 
him for curing her of this midsummer's madness. 

So he pressed on her eyes the healing juice. 

" Now, my Titania, wake you, my sweet Queen ! " 

Titania opened her flower-like eyes and sprang to 
Oberon's arms. 

" My Oberon ! what visions have I seen ! 
Methought I was enamoured of an ass." 

*' There lies your love," answered Oberon, pointing 
to the sleeping Bottom, decked with flower-chains, 
and on whose great ass's head perched Pease-blossom, 
daintily fanning him with butterfly's wings. 

Titania shuddered. 

** How came this thing to pass ? " she asked. 
" O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now ! '* 

Oberon told the ready Puck to draw off the ass's 
head, and with a wave of his wand caused Bottom, 
when he should awake, to hurry back to Athens, be- 
lieving all these things to be but a dream. 

Then dancing with Titania, as the fairies made soft 
music, he promised that the next night they should 



264 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

visit the Duke's palace at Athens, and bless all the 
couples there to be married. 

As the first lark shot up in the sky, pouring out 
its clear and happy song, the fairies flew away, round 
the globe, " swifter than the wandering moon," for 
to them the sweet soft light of stars and night is more 
pleasant than the hot and glaring rays of the sun. 



CHAPTER V 

In the beautiful city of Athens there was early stir. 
The Duke would take the noble Queen of the Ama- 
zons, his intended bride, and show her a hunt in 
his wood outside the city. The music of his hounds, 
he knew, would please her ears, for she loved sports 
even as he did. 

So with the first rays of the sun a gallant caval- 
cade came trooping into the fresh greenness of the 
wood, now in the morning light looking like any 
other wood, for there was not a fairy left to be seen, 
only the rings where they had danced, the flowers 
they had tended, the creepers they had twined, and 
also the four sleeping mortals they had so deluded, 
though indeed it had been in the first instance only 
a kind intention on the part of the Fairy King to 
make one poor maiden happy. 

The Duke and his company drew rein as they came 
on four sleeping figures. 

" Soft, what nymphs are these.? " he asked, looking 
at Hermia and Helena. 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 265 

Hermia's father was with the Duke, and he recog- 
nized his daughter with surprise, then Helena, and the 
two youths. How came they here, and all together? 

The Duke ordered his huntsmen to sound their 
horns, and the noisy blast, echoing through the wood, 
made the four sleepers spring to their feet and look 
round with astonishment. How came they here? 
what meant it all? had they been dreaming? Lysan- 
der was the first to collect his scattered wits, and 
kneeling before the Duke, he confessed to him the 
plan he and Hermia had made. 

Then was Hermia's father very wrathful, and pro- 
tested that by Athenian law he must lose his head, 
and that his daughter should marry the man he had 
chosen — Demetrius. 

Then to his surprise Demetrius declared that now 
all his wish and longing had returned to his first 
love, Helena, for so truly had Oberon's second juice 
opened his eyes, that he, too, would evermore be 
true. 

Thus they knelt, hand in hand, Demetrius with 
Helena, and Hermia with Lysander, the quarrels and 
fightings and anger of the past night seeming more 
and more dream-like, knowing only for sure that now 
they had each found their true-love, and all mis- 
understandings were past with the night. 

Then was Theseus the Duke greatly rejoiced; he 
declared that they would all back to Athens and hold 
a marriage feast, the three couples being duly wedded 
with great solemnity. 

And Hermia's father had to give way, whether he 



^66 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

liked it or not, for they were now all against him; 
so he bowed to the Duke's will. 

It was a very grand wedding, and never were hap- 
pier couples ; and in the evening, among all the feast- 
ing and dancing, a company of players was intro- 
duced, the Master of the Revels explaining that these 
were hard-handed men that work in Athens, who had 
prepared this play to do honour to the Duke's wed- 
ding. 

Theseus said they would see it, and our friend 
Bottom, thoroughly awakened from his most wonder- 
ful dream, as he believed it, of the ass's head and of 
fairies, played the part of the lover Pyramus, and 
killed himself in gallant fashion ; and the lion roared, 
after kindly assuring the ladies he was not really a 
lion, but only Snug the joiner; and the moon, the 
wall, and Lady Thisby all fulfilled their parts to the 
great delight of the laughing audience. 

When all were peacefully asleep in the Palace, and 
the silver moon's rays made a path of light through 
the garden and the hall, in flew the fairies : first Puck, 
for 

** he was sent with broom before 
To sweep the dust* behind the door ; '* 

then followed Oberon and Titania and all their fairy 
train. And from room to room they tripped, light 
as birds, and with their soft song, that woke no one, 
but only gave most pleasant dreams, they blessed 
the happy couples ; and when they flew off to their 
delightful wood, they left behind them the blessed gift 
of sweet peace. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

CHAPTER I 

T N the deep blue sea of the Adriatic lies the wonder- 
■■■ ful city of Venice. It is built on a hundred and 
seventeen small islands situated in a bay off the 
east coast of Italy, about two and a half miles from 
the mainland. The watei* flowing between these is- 
lands, forming as it were the streets, is called canals, 
and they are crossed by many hundreds of bridges, 
which unite the islands and make of the whole one 
city. Beautiful marble palaces are built on some of 
the islands, their carved fronts rising out of the 
water's edge ; wonderful churches and galleries, full 
of the finest pictures and art-treasulres, are on others ; 
and gardens, markets, squares, and shops, with 
smaller houses for poor people, are found clustering 
together elsewhere. Instead of carriages and carts 
the Venetians use long, narrow boats called gondolas, 
which, since Venice ceased to be a powerful Republic 
in 1718, have always been painted black in token of 
mourning. 

But years ago, some four hundred, when the story 
you now read took place, Venice was at the height of 
her glory and power, and from this sea-girt city 
sailed forth wonderful ships, like those beautiful ves- 
sels with great sweeping sails that we find in pictures 

^67 



^68 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

of the Spanish Armada. And these magnificent-look- 
ing ships were loaded with all the riches and treasures 
of the then known world, for Venice was the great 
trading centre for all parts; and on the famous 
Rialto, the island devoted to the business of the 
city, met all the wealthy merchants of Venice and 
traders from everywhere, East and West. 

Amongst the flowing mantles of rich brocade 
worn by the Venetians might be seen the long sober 
gaberdines of the Jews, a people at that time much 
hated and despised, but who, notwithstanding the 
unjust persecution they suffered for their religion, 
managed to enrich themselves, and, because of their 
riches, became a certain power in any State who 
would let them live in tolerable security in the land. 
It is not much to be wondered at that the Jews re- 
turned the hatred with interest, and that when 
occasion offered they drove as hard a bargain, or got 
the better of any Gentile, as was possible. Hate 
breeds hate, and the Christians showed as little of 
their Master's spirit as did the Jews, who denied 
Him. 

On one beautiful sunny day, when the white marble 
palaces were reflected in the dancing blue waters of 
the Adriatic, and the gaily-coloured gondolas, deftly 
rowed and steered by the standing oarsman at the 
bow, glided noiselessly along the shining waterways, 
Antonio, a very rich merchant, of grave and stately 
figure, met a friend of his, the young lord Bassanio, 
a bright, careless, handsome young fellow, whom 
Antonio loved like his life. Antonio had neither 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 269 

wife nor child, and in his lonely life Bassanio stood 
for everything. 

Bassanio's usually cheerful looks were rather 
clouded, and he told his friend that he needed his 
help. This was not for the first time, and Antonio 
assured him he should have it. He then questioned 
him about a secret pilgrimage he had lately made. 

" In Belmont is a lady richly left, and she is fair, 
and fairer than that word, of wondrous virtues ! " 
answered Bassanio, drawing his arm through 
Antonio's, and speaking softly. " Sometimes from 
her eyes I did receive fair speechless messages. Her 
name is Portia." 

Bassanio explained that this lady's beauty, wealth, 
and wit brought many suitors to her house, and had 
he but the means to hold his own among them all, he 
hoped that he might be the fortunate one, so kindly 
had the lady looked on him. But for this journey 
he needed moneys, and he had nothing but debts. 

Antonio told him that just at that moment all his 
ships were at sea, but that on his credit in Venice 
he could borrow money, and then should Bassanio 
hurry forth fitly equipped^ to Belmont, to woo and 
win the fair Portia. 

Bassanio joyfully accepted this good offer. A 
merchant of such standing as Antonio could have no 
difficulty in raising a loan. His name was as good 
as any bond. 

So he hurried across the bridge which led to the 
Rialto, hoping to make an arrangement with some 
of Antonio's merchant friends. 



no SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

The market-place was surrounded by colonnades, 
with fine paintings on the walls, and there also hung 
a large map, showing the route of the Venetian mer- 
chant ships all over the world. At one corner stood 
a church, the oldest in Venice, and on its wall was 
this inscription: 

*' Around this temple let the merchant's law be 
just, his weight true, and his covenant faithful." 

For such was the standard set before the Venetian 
people ; and that their laws were good and true for 
friend or alien was one of their proud boasts. 

Bassanio found that, though Antonio's credit was 
as good as he thought it, everyone had not the ready 
money to lend, so at last he went where he knew there 
was plenty, and that was to old Shylock the Jew, 
one who was as well known on the Rialto as Antonio 
himself. He had, however, quite a different reputa- 
tion. He was known to drive very hard bargains, 
and often had Antonio thwarted him in some deaHng, 
by helping his creditor to get out of his clutches. 
Also, as he lent money easily, it prevented Shylock 
from raising the interest, so that Shylock hated this 
foolish, open-handed Christian, as he considered him ; 
and Antonio, in a very high and mighty way, despised 
the cunning old Jew, and took no pains to hide his 
disdain. 

Therefore, when Bassanio came to Shylock to ask 
to borrow money, and gave Antonio's name as 
security, Shylock stroked his long grey beard 
thoughtfully, and hummed and hawed a good deal. 
Not that he was unwilling, but he was considering 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 271 

if by any chance this might lead to his getting some 
revenge on Antonio. 

The gay young lord who asked the favour, and 
whom he knew could only spend money with both silly 
open hands, he cared nothing for; but Antonio — 
that proud, scornful, wealthy Antonio! 

" Three thousand ducats — well " he said 

slowly, when Bassanio had named that sum as the loan. 

*' Ay, sir, and for three months," answered Bas- 
sanio, who wanted the matter settled quickly. 

" For three months — well " Again old Shy- 
lock stroked his beard slqwly, and his keen dark eyes 
considered the eager young man, and his gay and 
costly attire of velvet doublet and small embroidered 
cape, 

" For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be 
the bound," said Bassanio, wisliing the old man would 
come to the point. 

*' Antonio shall become bound — well " Shy- 
lock still stroked his beard. 

''May you stead me? Will you pleasure me? 
Shall I know your answer .^^ " Bassanio spoke im- 
patiently. 

Shylock granted that Antonio was a good man — - 
he meant in point of money — but it was said in the 
Rialto that all his ventures were at sea : one ship gone 
to Tripolis, one to the Indies, another to Mexico, and 
one to England, and this was not safe, for the sea 
had many dangers : there were pirates, and perils of 
waters, winds, and rocks. Still, he thought he might 
take his bond. 



272 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" Be assured you may," Bassanio said quIcMy. 
He hated business matters. What a fuss the old Jew 
was making over a small sum like three thousand 
ducats ! 

At this moment Antonio joined them, and in 
answer to Shylock's low bow and " Rest you fair, 
good signior," given in very mock humility, Antonio 
spoke shortly and only to the point: 

" Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow, by 
taking nor by giving of excess, yet to supply the 
ripe wants of my friend I'll break a custom. Shall 
we be beholden to you? " 

His tall, straight figure, clad in dark but very 
handsome garments, towered over the bent figure of 
the old Jew, whose long gaberdine was also of rich 
though sober material. He cared not to waste much 
money on outward show ; he liked to feel it was safe 
in his money-bags, locked in a heavy iron chest. 
Antonio asked this favour, too, as if it were no favour, 
and he looked down on Shylock as though he were a 
worm. 

Then Shylock raised his bent figure, and keen hate 
flashed from his eyes. His pride of race — a race 
older in civilization, in history, in culture, than these 
magnificent modern Venetians — gave dignity to his 
bent figure, and he answered with a sneer to match 
Antonio's scorn: 

" Signior Antonio, many a time and oft 
In the Rialto you have rated me 
About my moneys, and my usances: 
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug; 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 273 

For suff ranee is the badge of all our tribe: 

You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, 

And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine. 

And all for use of that which is my own. 

Well then, it now appears you want my help: 

Go to, then; you come to me and you say, 

Shyloch, we would have moneys: 

What should I say to you? Should I not say. 

Hath a dog money f is it possible 

A cur can lend three thousand ducats? or 

Shall I bend low and in a bondsman's key. 

With 'bated breath and whispering humbleness 

Say this ? — 

Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last; 

You spurned me such a day; another time 

You caird me dog; and for these courtesies 

Vll lend you thus much moneys? " 

Old Shylock ended with outspread hands • — thin 
hands with long fingers, that looked as though they 
could hold fast what they had. 

But there was something pathetic in the old man's 
voice. Truly in those days to be born a Jew was 
to be born to hardship, though pride of race would 
have kept any Jew from wishing to be born anything 
else. 

Antonio was not the least moved by either the 
voice or the argument; he answered coldly and 
haughtily : 

" I am as like to call thee so again, 
To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 



274 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

As to thy friends, (for when did friendship take 
A breed for barren metal from his friend?) 
But lend it rather to thine enemy, 
Wio if he break, thou mayst with better face 
Exact the penalty/* 

Then the cunning that oppression always develops 
made Shylock turn to the two friends as though he, 
too, would be a friend, and treated as such. He 
said in all kindness he would make an offer : he would 
lend the money wanted, and ask no usury; merely 
as a merry jest Antonio should sign a bond that, if 
he paid not back on the day fixed, the forfeit should 
be a pound of his flesh, to be cut off and taken in 
what part of the body pleased his creditor. 

Antonio laughed at this " merry j est," and said he 
would indeed seal such a bond, and say there was 
much kindness in the Jew. 

But Bassanio hesitated. He liked not the terms, 
and Antonio should not seal such a bond for him. 

" Why 5" answered Antonio, " within two months 
— that's a month before this bond expires — I do 
expect return of thrice three times the value of this 
bond." 

Shylock appeared hurt that Bassanio could think 
evil was meant by such a bond. What use would a 
pound of flesh be to him.^^ Mutton, beef, or goats 
had more value. But if they liked it not he would be 
gone. 

Antonio, however, bade him prepare the bond ; he 
would certainly sign it. So Shylock hurried off to 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 275 

get the ducats, and arranged to meet them at a 
notary's and settle the matter. 

" Hie thee, gentle Jew," Antonio called out after 
him. " This Hebrew will turn Christian ; he grows 
kind." 

" I like not fair terms and a villain's mind," said 
Bassanio, still doubtful. 

" Come on," answered Antonio. 

** In this there can be no dismay. 
My ships come home a month before the day." 



CHAPTER II 

About twenty miles away from Venice, on the 
mainland of Italy, at Belmont, dwelt the lady 
Portia. Her father had been a very rich man, and to 
his only daughter he left all his money and his beau- 
tiful house and park at Belmont. But, fearing that 
she might be wedded for the sake of her fortune — 
though, indeed, her own beauty and wisdom would 
have brought her many wooers without any other en- 
dowment — in his will he forbade her marriage until 
certain conditions had been complied with. These 
were, that before the fair Portia could accept, or even 
refuse, any suitor, he was to make his choice between 
three caskets. One was of gold, one silver, one lead ; 
and when opened, the one chosen by the suitor would 
give him his answer — if the lady were for him or no ; 
also might he never reveal which casket had proved 



276 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

the wrong one. A further condition, however, was to 
prove the kind of man the lover was, for he had 
first to solemnly swear that, should his choice not 
fall on the right casket, he would never more woo any 
lady for his wife. This last condition made many 
lovers forsake the quest altogether. They would 
fain wed the lovely and rich Portia, but, should they 
fail in the trial, they had no wish to mourn as sad 
bachelors for the rest of their lives. 

Yet many become so enamoured of the lady, that 
even this last condition they were willing to accept, 
for the chance of winning her, and Portia had to 
allow them the choice; and whether she loved or 
whether she did not, she bound herself to abide loyally 
by her father's will. 

Sometimes to her companion Nerissa, a dark merry 
maiden, whose light heart helped to cheer her home, 
she lamented that for her there was no choice ; but 
as Nerissa counted over the lovers, she would join in 
her mirth, and dismiss them all with a merry laugh, 
feeling thankful when they departed from her house 
without accepting the trial. There was only one 
name that made her heart beat faster. Nerissa, with 
a shrewd look, reminded her lady of a certain young 
noble from Venice, a soldier, who had come in com- 
pany with a Marquis who had wooed and lost her ; he, 
said Nerissa, was the best deserving a fair lady that 
ever her foohsh eyes had looked on. 

*' Yes, yes — it was Bassanio," answered Portia, 
with a bright smile ; and then, as though she would 
cover her quick remembrance of the handsome young 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 277 

soldier's name, she added indifferently : " I think so 
was he called." 

Nerissa quite understood whom her lady would 
wish to choose the right casket. 

But other lovers were knocking at her door, and 
the Prince of Morocco, with his half-regal suite, 
petitioned to be allowed the choice that would 
make liim the most blessed, or most curst, among 
men. 

At Portia's order a curtain was drawn at the end 
of a magnificent room where she received her suitors, 
and there were displayed the three caskets. 

Portia pointed to them saying: 

*' The one of them contains my picture, Prince. 
If you choose that, then I am yours withal." 

The Prince took up the small leaden box first ; 
on it ran the inscription: 

" Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he 
hath." 

He turned away from that, for lead, he said, he 
would not hazard anything. Then he looked at the 
silver box ; on it was written : 

" Who chooseth me shall get as much as he 
deserves." 

And over that saying he paused, for truly he felt 
he did deserve the lady; he was rich and young and 
nobly born, and in love he was anyone's equal. But 
he glanced to see what legend the gold casket bore, 
and there he read : 

" Who chooseth me shall gain what many men 
desire." 



278 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

That determined him — the world desired the fair 
Portia, gold was her worthy setting. 

" Deliver me the key," he cried. " Here do I 
choose and thrive I as I may." 

He opened the golden casket and horror seized him ; 
inside lay no fair portrait, but a skull and a paper 
containing these words : 

" All that glitters is not gold : 
Often have you heard that told. 
Many a man his life has sold^ 
But my outside to behold. . . . 
Fare you well; your suit is cold." 

There was no help for it, nor anything further to 
be said. In deep dejection he made his farewell bow, 
and left. Portia sighed with relief. Another danger 
past. Oh, why had her father so willed it, that she 
could neither choose one nor refuse none! 

And then she thought on that young Venetian, and 
considered. It was a long time since he had come 
with the Marquis, and he had not asked to choose. 

But Bassanio was not the next who came to try 
his luck. Portia had again to allow the caskets to 
be shown, and to await with beating heart what the 
result might be. 

The Prince of Arragon desired to be allowed the 
choice, and as he entered the grand hall, it would ap- 
pear from his bearing that he came as a victorious 
conqueror. 

He dismissed the leaden box as beneath his notice, 
and the golden one, " what many men desired," was 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 279 

not for him ; he would not jump with common spirits ! 
Over the silver inscription he bent long, " to get as 
much as he deserved." That was well said; he un- 
doubtedly had the stamp of merit. " Give me the 
key for this, and instantly unlock my fortunes here," 
he cried; and the servant gave him the silver key. 

Alas for his pride! the portrait inside was none 
of Portia's, but of a blinking idiot, and the scroll 
told him to " begone," for he was sped. 

" What's here ? " he cried indignantly. " Did I 
deserve no more than a fool's head? Is that my 
prize? Are my deserts no better?" 

But there was no use in being angry ; he was bowed 
out, and again Portia breathed freely. 

What! another wooer? The servant entered hur- 
riedly. 

A young Venetian came to herald his lord's ap- 
proach. Gifts of rich value had he bestowed on all; 
he was indeed a likely ambassador of love ! the serv- 
ant was loud in his praise. 

From Venice! Portia turned to Nerissa. 

" Come, come, Nerissa; for I long to see 
Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly." 

Nerissa, little guessing that for her also this meant 
a " Cupid's post," whispered aside with a smile : 
" Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be." 



280 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 



CHAPTER III 

Before we follow Bassanio's fortune with the 
caskets and the fair Portia, we must return to Venice 
and see how things had sped with Antonio and the 
Jew. 

After the " merry bond " had been signed at the 
notary's, Shylock was in great good-humour, and 
had accepted Bassanio's invitation to sup that night 
with him and his friends. 

This for him was a very unusual thing to do; he 
had at first said to Bassanio that he would " buy 
with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, 
and so following; but I will not eat with you, drink 
with you, nor pray with you." However, the bond 
having so greatly pleased him, he went home to see 
to the safety of his house, while he went out to sup- 
per. 

Shylock had one daughter, a lovely girl called Jes- 
sica, and he guarded her as jealously as he did his 
ducats. He was never quite at ease when away from 
either, and his servant, a good-natured but rather 
lazy Christian called Launcelot, had just left his serv- 
ice and gone to that of Bassanio. So he charged 
Jessica that night to lock up the doors, and shut 
the casements, nor chmb up and thrust her head into 
the public street, but to stay within and keep all 
safely locked. He was loath to go, for he had 
dreamt of money-bags that night, and that might 
mean some ill brewing for him. 




Shylock. "There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest, 
For I did dream of moneybags to-night." 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 281 

Launcelot, who, as his new master's servant, came 
to bid his old master not forget the supper party, 
told him not to delay, for there was to be fine doings 
and a masque. 

" I am not bid for love," growled Shylock, " they 
flatter me; but yet I will go in hate to feed upon the 
prodigal Christian." 

Launcelot had whispered aside to Jessica while giv- 
ing her a note: 

** Mistress^ look out at window for all this. 
There will come a Christian by 
Will be worth a Jewess' eye." 

Had Shylock heard him, nothing would have moved 
him from his house that night ; but he did not know 
what was inside his pretty daughter's head, and that 
it was not as possible to lock up a gay and beautiful 
young girl as it was to guard ducats. 

When her father had gone Jessica looked after 
him, but with no sadness, for indeed she had found 
home with him no better than a prison ; she shook 
her head and said softly: 

" Farewell, and if my fortune be not crossed, 
I have a father, you a daughter, lost." 

She knew well what Launcelot meant when he spoke 
of a Christian coming by. It was not for the first 
time that she held a little note safely in the bosom 
of her dress, nor for the first time that, bending 
from her window, or in the seclusion of the little 
walled-in garden, she had listened to the Christian's 



282 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

wooing. The handsome young Lorenzo had seen the 
Jew's daughter and loved her at once, and at last he 
had persuaded her to leave her father's home and her 
father's religion, and to " become a Christian and his 
loving wife." 

To Jessica it was as though he had opened prison- 
gates for her, and knowing that her father would 
rather see her dead than wedded to a Christian, she 
had determxined to run away and be happy with Lo- 
renzo. 

This was the very night on which she had arranged 
to escape ; her disguise, that of a page-boy, lay hidden 
in her own room; all the jewels she possessed were 
in the pockets ; and when her father gave her his 
keys, she unlocked his money-drawers and took out 
some bags of ducats — she would not go empty- 
handed to her lover. 

As the evening grew dark, she dressed herself in her 
page's suit, and at a half-open window she listened 
for the sound of the merry party which Lorenzo 
would bring masked and disguised. It had been ar- 
ranged that she should join the party as his torch- 
bearer, and afterwards they would escape by gondola 
from Venice. 

Her heart beat fast as she sat there waiting and 
listening; then came the sound of voices, and at last 
his voice, Lorenzo's. 

She looked down on the narrow street that ran at 
the back of the house ; on the front the quiet waters 
glittered darkly under the stars, and the gondola, tied 
to its brightly coloured post, rocked gently. But 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE S83 

they had arranged to meet and escape where there 
was the least chance of neighbouring eyes espying 
them, and as a boy she could pass where she would 
with the merrymaking throng • — no one would guess 
that the dark-haired page was the lovely Jessica, 
daughter of rich old Shylock the Jew. 

So Lorenzo and his party of friends passed laugh- 
ing and jesting out of the narrow street to join the 
merrymakers at Bassanio's supper party, and bearing 
a torch and keeping very near Lorenzo, Jessica left 
behind her for ever her father's gloomy house. 

There was much talk ijext morning on the Rialto, 
where not only business, but all news, was freely dis- 
cussed. Some tidings made men look sad: Antonio 
had lost a ship, a richly laden ship, wrecked on the 
dangerous flat called the Goodwins, off the coast of 
England. Another messenger said that was not the 
last of his losses ; storms had been very prevalent, 
and there were rumours of further wrecks. Antonio 
was much beloved, and many knew of his bond with 
the Jew, though they did not regard the penalty as 
anything but a jest. 

Then there was the report of the flight of Shylock's 
daughter with Lorenzo ; over that no one seemed to 
grieve, and when the old man came on the scene, they 
laughed at his trouble. 

He was distraught with anger as much as sorrow, 
and whether he mourned more over the loss of his 
ducats or his daughter it were hard to say. 

" My daughter ! Oh, my ducats ! Oh, my daugh- 
ter!" he cried out. "Fled with a Christian? Oh, 



284 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

my Christian ducats ! Justice ! the law ! my ducats 
and my daughter! A sealed bag — two sealed bags 
of ducats ! Of double ducats, stolen from me by my 
daughter ! " 

So on he raved, and only paused to find comfort 
when he heard of Antonio's losses. 

" I am very glad of it," he told his friend Tubal, 
a Jew. " I'll plague him, I'll torture him ; I am glad 
of it." 

He rubbed his hands gleefully, but quickly remem- 
bered his daughter and his ducats, and the failure of 
all his attempts to have her followed and brought 
back, with the jewels and the ducats; but no mercy 
would he show a Christian after this theft by a Chris- 
tian. 

" I'll have the heart out of him. If he forfeit, let 
him look to his bond." 

Revenge was now his one thought • — - he had been 
wronged, he would be revenged. 



CHAPTER IV 

Bassanio, obeying his friend Antonio's kind in- 
junction to make no hurry over his love-making, 
and not to let the thought of business or the merry 
bond with the Jew disturb his mind, passed the 
long summer days very happily in the company 
of the fair Portia, becoming more and more in love 
with her each succeeding day, and allowing himself 
to hope that she was not averse to his presence ; that 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE S85 

she, too, found the days pass all too swiftly, and 
though she might not say " Yes " or " No," she bade 
him stay, even for a month or two, for if he chose 
wrong then she would lose his company. She might 
not, however, teach him to choose rightly, for then 
would she be forsworn, and that she would never 
be. 

Portia's eyes were soft when she looked at the 
young Venetian, and they told her secret, though 
her tongue sought to hide what as yet she did not dare 
confess. 

Nerissa might have found the time hang heavily 
for her while her lady talked and walked and thought 
of no one but this favoured lover ; but she, too, had a 
very agreeable companion in the young gentleman 
who attended Bassanio, called Gratiano, and he per- 
suaded her to promise that should his lord win her 
lady by right choice of the casket, she would follow 
Portia's example, and be married to him on the same 
day that saw them a happy couple. 

So passed the time, and at last Bassanio, impa- 
tient to know his fate, entreated the lady Portia to 
allow him his choice. " For as I am," he cried, " I 
live upon the rack." 

" Away, then," said Portia ; " I am locked in one 
of them. If you do love me, you will find me out." 

She ordered soft music to sound as the curtains 
were withdrawn, and waited to see how this lover 
would fare ; would he, too, have to make his bow and 
depart without further delay as the others had done? 
Then she had sighed with relief ; now — now she 



286 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

dared hardly to think of anything so awful as Bas- 
sanio's opening the wrong casket. 

Bassanio stood before the table studying the three 
boxes — the gold, the silver, the lead, with their three 
inscriptions. Surely there he might find a clue for 
his right guidance. 

Gold? Nay, would not that be to trust to out- 
ward show.'^ 

Silver .f* Was not that the common exchange be- 
tween man and man? He would none of them. But 
lead? That seemed rather to threaten than to prom- 
ise — to dare, rather than to entice ; yes, lead it 
should be. 

" Here choose I ! " cried Bassanio. " Joy be the 
consequence," 

And joy was the consequence, for inside the box 
lay the fair portrait of fair Portia, so cunningly 
painted that the lips seemed to move, the eyes to 
speak, and on the folded scroll was written : 

" You that choose not by the view, 
Chance as fair, and choose as true ! 
Since this fortune falls to you. 
Be content and seek no new. 
If you be well pleased with this 
And hold your fortune for your bliss. 
Turn you where your lady is, 
And claim her with a loving kiss." 

Bassanio needed no second bidding; he turned to 
his fair lady, and kissing her, took her hand, saying 
that until she assured him all was true, he could 
hardly believe so great good-fortune was his. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 287 

And Portia, with both hands, and tears of joy in 
her eyes, gave him all that he could ask — herself, 
her house, her fortune — only wishing, for his sake, 
that she were more beautiful, more rich ; and as a sign 
of her love she gave him a ring from her finger, a 
quaint and precious ring, bidding him never part with 
it, or lose it, lest it should injure their love. 

Bassanio vowed that never, while life lasted, should 
that ring part from his finger. 

Nerissa and Gratiano came forward to congratu- 
late the happy pair, and then announced their com- 
pact, begging that they, might be married on the 
same day. Nerissa also gave a ring to her lover, 
and he swore that he too would keep it for ever. 

In the midst of all this happy excitement some vis- 
itors were announced — Solanio, a gentleman from 
Venice, came to see Bassanio, and with him were Lo- 
renzo and his wife Jessica, who had been travelling 
about in Italy, and being near Belmont had joined 
Solanio on his visit, longing to hear how Bassanio's 
fortunes had sped. 

Portia, for Bassanio's sake, gave them all a most 
kind welcome, and while she talked to the sweet-look- 
ing Jessica, she noticed that the letter Solanio had 
given Bassanio made him turn pale, and a look of 
great grief banished all joy from his face. 

She entreated to share with him the trouble that 
the letter had brought. 

" O sweet Portia," he cried, " here are a few of the 
unpleasantest words that ever blotted paper ; " and 
reminding her of the friend of whom he had told her, 



^88 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

and of his kind loan of money, he now explained the 
condition under which that money had been borrowed, 
and that the bond was forfeit, for loss upon loss had 
bankrupted the rich Antonio ; he had not repaid the 
loan to Shylock, and the three months were past. 

" But is it true, Solanio ? " he asked again ; " have 
all his ventures failed? not one vessel escaped the 
dreadful touch of merchant-marring rocks ? " 

Solanio shook his head. " Not one." And the 
Jew refused now to take the money which Antonio's 
friends would raise. He demanded of the Duke that 
justice should be done, and he be granted his bond. 

Portia asked what sum was owed, and hearing it 
was but three thousand ducats she bade Bassanio take 
twice that sum — nay, double that and treble that — 
and hasten without delay to his true friend, and hav- 
ing released him, to return with all speed and bring 
Antonio with him. 

So Bassanio and Gratiano hurried off with Solanio, 
leaving Jessica and her Lorenzo to keep Portia com- 
pany. 

But no sooner had they gone than Portia called to 
Nerissa and said it was her intention to be in Venice 
as soon as Bassanio: she had a plan. She requested 
Lorenzo and Jessica to stay and manage for her her 
house until she should return, for she had made a 
vow, she told them, to go and live in prayer and con- 
templation, until her lord's return, and only Nerissa 
was to accompany her. 

She then despatched a messenger, one whom she 
could trust as both honest and quick, and he was to 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 289 

take a letter to a cousin of hers in Padua, a learned 
doctor of the law, Bellario, and bring to her with ut- 
most speed what he should be given, meeting her at 
the ferry which trades to Venice. 

Then in the coach with Nerissa she unfolded to 
her her plan. 



CHAPTER V 

The Duke had at last yielded to Shylock's urgent 
appeal that justice, the just and sure law of Venice 
that might not for anyone or any cause be turned 
aside, should be meted out between him and An- 
tonio, and that as Antonio had failed to keep his 
side of the bond within the three months, so now the 
forfeit of that bond — the "merry jest," as he had 
called it, three months back — should be paid: one 
pound of flesh cut from Antonio's body near the 
heart. 

All Venice was excited over this trial. Could it 
be ? would the Duke allow it ? would the Jew really get 
his pound of flesh? 

" Yes," said all the learned heads. " It was a 
bond; the law could not be altered, it must be re- 
spected ; not even the Duke might change the law." 

So the great Court of Justice was crowded on the 
morning of the trial. The Duke and the Magnificoes 
of Venice, all in their robes of state, sat on a raised 
dais in solemn, stately grandeur, and at a long ta- 
ble sat the clerks and registrars, all prepared to see 



290 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

that justice was done — even to a Jew, for the sake 
of the honour of Venice, Antonio was there, pale 
but calm, standing between two gaolers ; Bassanio 
and Gratiano were there, with the heavy money-bags 
Portia had sent ; and the friends and fellow-merchants 
of Venice thronged in, to see what might be the end- 
ing of this strange trial. A little apart stood Shy- 
lock alone, for no other Jew would so far befriend 
him as to appear with him in such a case ; but he 
wavered not, though well aware of the looks of hatred 
cast in his direction, and the muttered curses that 
greeted him. He stood alone, grim and determined, 
and his hand passed quietly over the edge of the knife 
that was stuck in the broad band of his robe. He 
had Antonio, one of his enemies, in his power — one 
of those who had insulted him, spat on him, taken 
from him his daughter, and many of his precious duc- 
ats ! Now it was his turn, and he cared for nothing, 
nothing in heaven or earth, but one thing, and that 
was his revenge. 

The Duke rose, and looked with sorrow at Antonio, 
with sternness on the Jew. Then he spoke to Shy- 
lock; surely he had been misleading them all? He 
had carried the matter so far to show his power ; now 
he would show his pity — he would never exact the 
penalty ! " We all expect a gentle answer, Jew," he 
ended, with an entreaty in his voice. 

Shylock, looking out of dark, deep-set eyes, smiled 
a little grimly at the Duke's speech, and answered 
" that by the holy Sabbath he had sworn to have his 
bond, and that he held his Grace to it, to see that 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 291 

the charter of the city was not broken, but that jus- 
tice was done." 

Bassanio interrupted him eagerly: 

" For thy three thousand ducats here are six " 

" If every ducat in six thousand ducats were in six 
parts, and every part a ducat, I would not have them. 
I would have my bond." So Shylock answered, and 
Bassanio drew back with a sigh of despair to his dear 
friend's side. How could he ever be happy again, 
even with his beloved Portia, when the bond made for 
him had brought this disaster to Antonio? 

'' How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering 
none? " asked the Duke. 

" I stand for judgment," said Shylock. " Answer ; 
shall I have it?" 

The Duke paused. He had been waiting for a 
learned doctor of law from Padua, the great seat of 
learning in those days, to whom he had sent to see if 
by any chance some other light could be thrown 
on the matter, and at that moment a young man, 
in the long black cloak of a lawyer's clerk, was 
ushered in, who brought a letter from the doctor 
Bellario. 

The Duke read it, and then told the Court that the 
learned doctor for whom he had sent wrote that he 
was ill, but in his place had come a young doctor of 
Rome, whose name was Balthasar. He had been 
made acquainted with the case between the Jew and' 
the merchant, and together they had consulted many 
learned books. He brought Bellario's opinion, bet- 
tered with his own great learning, for never had been 



29^ SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

known so young a body with so old a head, and so he 
left him to his Grace's acceptance. 

The Duke looked up relieved. Was it possible 
there was a way out of the horrible cutting of that 
pound of flesh? 

" You hear the learned Bellario, what he writes ; 
and here, I take it, is the doctor come," he announced. 

The young clerk had gone out, and now returned 
with his master, as young apparently as himself, but 
clad in all the dignity of the full red robes of a doctor 
of law. 

The Duke received him with respect, and bade 
him take his place at the head of the table. His clerk 
by his side opened his leathern box and drew out 
closely written notes, and learned-looking documents. 

Every eye in the court rested on that fair young 
doctor in his brilliant-coloured gown, who faced the 
Court with such calm dignity. He seemed scarcely 
more than a boy, and yet Bellario had spoken of his 
great learning. Antonio sighed. He knew he was 
doomed, and wished that there need be no more talk, 
but that the Jew should have his will and end the dis- 
mal scene. Bassanio wondered if there could be any 
hope. Shylock was unmoved ; he knew the law, and 
he would have his bond for all the Dukes or learned 
doctors in Venice. 

The young doctor looked round the court as though 
to learn the people present. In a calm, low voice, 
that yet everyone could hear, he asked which was An- 
tonio, which the Jew? Then, acknowledging that as 
Antonio confessed the bond, the law of Venice could 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 293 

not prevent his forfeit, he turned to Shylock : " Then 
must the Jew be merciful," he said. 

" On what compulsion must I? tell me that ! " cried 
Shylock wrathfully. 

The Court was hushed as the young doctor spoke 
of mercy that falls from heaven with a blessing like 
to that of gentle rain; mercy that blesses him that 
gives as much as him that takes ; mercy that seasons 
justice; mercy for which we pray, and so are taught 
to give what we do need. 

As he spoke, in that gentle but firm voice, every- 
one listened in thrilled silepce. This was a new note 
in the stern Law Courts, but it rang true. Ah! 
surely the Jew must yield ! 

But Shylock continued to demand the " penalty of 
his bond." Bassanio again offered money, and more 
money — " ten times o'er, on forfeit of his hands, his 
head, his heart " ; and if not, surely the learned doc- 
tor could for once wrest the law, " and to do a great 
right do a little wrong, and curb this cruel devil of 
his will." 

" It may not be," said the young doctor gravely. 
" There is no power in Venice can alter a decree es- 
tablished." 

Shylock heard this decision with joy. He called 
him a " wise young judge," " a Daniel come to judg- 
ment." 

With a strange look the young judge turned on 
him, and asked to see the bond, and willingly Shy- 
lock handed it to him, while all the Court waited in 
deep dejection. There was, then, no remedy, no hope 



^94 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

to save Antonio from the Jew's cruel knife? Bas- 
sanio clasped his friend's hand. Ah! to save him he 
would give up the woman he loved so dearly — sacri- 
fice her, life and everything, could he but save his 
friend. 

The young judge eyed him curiously. " What 
would the lady say could she hear that? " he asked; 
and when Gratiano protested that he, too, could wish 
his love in heaven if it would save Antonio, the young 
clerk raised his head from his notes, and remarked 
that it was as well he said that behind her back, or it 
might make an unquiet house. 

Then, carefully considering the bond, the young 
judge addressed Shylock. A pound of the mer- 
chant's flesh was his — Shylock drew his knife from 
his band — yes, and he might cut that pound from 
his breast, nearest his heart. The law allowed it, 
and the Court awarded it. 

Shylock approached Antonio, and all the revenge 
and hatred of months and years past glittered in his 
eyes and rang in his voice. 

"Most learned judge!" he cried triumphantly. 
** A sentence ! Come, prepare ! " 

The young judge raised his hand. '^ Tarry a lit- 
tle ; there is something else." A tremor rang through 
the court ; one might have heard a pin drop. " This 
bond doth give thee here no jot of blood,'' he contin- 
ued. " The words expressly are : a pound of flesh. 
Then take thy bond — take thou thy pound of flesh ; 
but in the cutting of it, if thou dost shed one drop 
of Christian blood, thy lands and goods are by 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 295 

the laws of Venice confiscate unto the State of Ven- 
ice." 

He paused, and Shylock started back aghast. The 
Court could hardly restrain a cheer, and Gratiano 
shouted : 

"O upright judge! Mark, Jew — a learned 
judge ! " 

"Is that the law? " asked Shylock hoarsely, trem- 
bling all over at so sudden a turn in the course of 
events. 

Sternly the judge said that he could see the Act 
for himself, and that as he wanted justice, he should 
have it -— more than he desired. 

" I will take his offer, then ; pay the bond thrice, 
and let the Christian go." Baffled and angry, but 
seeing the fatal error in his " merry bond," Shylock 
wished now to seize the money and get away from 
this crowd of jeering, hating eyes. 

Bassanio, too relieved for words, sprang up to 
give him the money-bags ; but again the young judge 
raised his hand. 

" Soft ; the Jew shall have all justice — soft, no 
haste ; he shall have nothing but the penalty." And 
he then challenged Shylock to take his pound of flesh, 
but shed no blood, neither cut anything but a pound, 
no more, no less ; for the turn of a hair in the scales 
would result in his sentence to death and confiscation 
of all his goods. 

Terror gazed from Shylock's eyes. No blood; no 
more, no less, than a pound! It was not possible! 
Oh, what a badly thought-out bond had he made! 



296 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

He asked for his money back, and only that, and 
leave to go. 

But the law he had craved for now held him, not 
his victim, fast ; and that wise young judge, who had 
prayed him to show mercy, now showed him justice. 
He had conspired against the life of a citizen — he, 
an ahen, and there again the law held him. The 
party against whom he had so conspired could seize 
half his goods, the other half was taken by the State, 
and his life itself lay at the mercy of the Duke. 
" Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke." 

Shylock stood as though frozen to a statue — the 
most utterly hopeless, broken old man, yet with a 
grim dignity that his hatred still lent him.. He would 
not bend his knee to ask for mercy ; he had been 
trapped by his own unheeding hands ; he would die, 
but never ask for mercy. 

The Duke rose with a feeling of pity for even that 
despised old Jew; he pardoned his life before he 
asked it, and turning to Antonio, he asked him what 
mercy he would show, now that the tables were 
turned. 

Antonio, grave and reserved now as during the ter- 
rible trial that had threatened his life, begged the 
Duke to confiscate but half the Jew's goods, to decree 
that Shylock should leave all his money to the gen- 
tleman that lately stole his daughter, and that he 
himself should forthwith become a Christian. 

This last clause was perhaps not so unkind as it 
sounds, for the Christians of that day thought no un- 
baptized person could ever possibly enter heaven ; so 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 297 

Antonio may have imagined he was forcing the Jew 
to that action for his own good. 

The young judge then asked Shylock: " Art thou 
content, Jew? What dost thou say?" 

Shylock, with what feelings we may well imagine, 
answered : " I am content." And as the deed of gift 
was to be drawn out, he turned to the Duke, and in a 
low voice said : " I pray you give me leave to go 
from hence ; I am not well. Send the deed after me, 
and I will sign it." 

So he left the court a broken old man, ruined and 
bitter; for what mercy Antonio and the Duke had 
shown him seemed to him but cruel kindness, and 
henceforth he could but seek some corner in which 
to hide himself until death released him from a world 
he hated. 

The rest of the people present were full of rejoic- 
ing and praises of the learned young judge, who had 
so cleverly turned the tables. The Duke asked him 
to come back with him to dinner, and Bassanio 
pressed on him the three thousand ducats prepared 
for the Jew; but all offers the young judge courte- 
ously declined. He had to leave that very day for 
Padua, he said, and he was well paid in that he was 
well satisfied to have delivered his client. When 
Bassanio still urged the acceptance of some gift, some 
remembrance, he suddenly turned, and, pointing to 
the ring Bassanio was wearing — the very one given 
him by Portia — said that, since he urged it, and for 
his love, he would take that ring, but nothing else. 

Bassanio drew back. He could not part with the 



298 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

ring; he had vowed to his lady it should never leave 
his hand. 

The young judge looked offended. Bassanio had 
taught him to beg, and now he denied him what he 
asked. With a grave bow to the gentlemen he left 
the court. 

Antonio turned to Bassanio, and entreated him to 
let the ring be given, for his love's sake. Surely he 
could explain how it happened to Portia; she would 
forgive him. Then quickly Bassanio gave it to Gra- 
tiano, asking him to run after the judge with the 
ring, and so satisfy him. 

Gratiano caught up with the young clerk, whose 
interest in the trial and busy taking of notes he had 
so admired, and before he knew it that young clerk 
had made him give up his ring, too — the ring Ne- 
rissa had made him vow never to part with on his 
life. 

The next morning Bassanio, with his dear Antonio, 
and Gratiano all left for Belmont, impatient to be 
with their lady-loves, and to tell them the good news. 



CHAPTER VI 

In the beautiful garden at Belmont the moon shone 
down on a very happy couple. Jessica and Lo- 
renzo wandered round enjoying the sweet smell of 
flowers borne on the gentle night breeze, and they 
talked of other lovely nights such as this, when other 
lovers had met, but none more loving or more happy 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 299 

than themselves. A messenger hurried to them say- 
ing that the lady Portia might be expected at any 
moment; so ordering that music should be made to 
greet her, they waited on a bank enjoying the sweet 
strains. 

Portia and Nerissa, leaving their coach at the gate, 
stole softly into the garden, very glad to be back 
before their lords, and Portia asked Jessica and Lo- 
renzo not to mention that they had been absent, for 
she heard that Bassanio and his friends were just ar- 
riving. 

Very soon, indeed, the moonlit garden saw more 
united lovers; Bassanio in great joy to be again 
with his beloved Portia, and eager to introduce to 
her his friend Antonio. 

While Portia was making him very welcome, Ne- 
rissa had been talking to her gay Gratiano, and at 
once noticed that he no longer wore the ring she had 
given him. 

They all turned to hear Gratiano excuse himself. 
The ring was of no value, and he gave it to the 
judge's clerk, who begged it of him for a fee; he had 
not the heart to deny it him. 

Nerissa very indignantly said what mattered the 
value? he had sworn to wear the ring till the hour 
of death. And then she tossed her pretty head dis- 
dainfully — a poor excuse, indeed ! She was certain 
that clerk would never wear hair on his face! 

Portia also took up the matter seriously. Grati- 
ano was to blame for so lightty parting with -his 
ring, after his many promises. She had given her 



300 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

love a ring, and he had sworn never to part with it, 
and sure she was he never would do so. Indeed, 
Nerissa had good cause for complaint. 

As may be imagined, Bassanio was very uncom- 
fortable on hearing this, and felt it were almost bet- 
ter to cut off his hand, and swear he lost the ring 
with it! But Gratiano blurted out the tmth, say- 
ing Bassanio had given his ring to the young judge, 
who had well deserved it too ! 

On hearing this Portia was very angry, and to 
all that Bassanio could urge in self-defence, she gave 
no heed, saying his false heart must be void of truth, 
and that doubtless Nerissa was right ; he had given 
the ring to no man, but to some woman. 

Bassanio, quite distracted, swore by the blessed 
stars that the young judge who had so cleverly 
saved his friend had persisted in begging the ring, 
and had Portia been there he believed she would her- 
self have urged him to give it up to so deserving a 
judge. 

For all Portia's apparent anger, there was a sus- 
picion of a smile breaking through her frown; and 
the naughty little Nerissa turned aside frequently 
to hide a laugh, though she appeared more indignant 
with Gratiano than ever. 

Antonio, very grieved to be in some sort of way 
the cause of this quarrel between such dear friends, 
protested to Portia, in his grave manner, that he 
would give his soul as forfeit, as once he had done 
his body, that his friend would never again break 
faith. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 301 

Portia drew a ring from her finger, and told An- 
tonio to give it to Bassanio, and that he should be 
his surety. 

Bassanio started with surprise ; the ring offered 
him was the same one he had given the judge — it 
was so old and curious that there was no mistaking 
it. 

Portia acknowledged calmly that such was the 
case, the judge was a friend of hers. 

Nerissa, saying the learned doctor's clerk had also 
given his ring back to her, handed it to Gratiano. 

And while bewilderment and displeasure perplexed 
both the lovers, Portia burst into a happy laugh, 
which Nerissa quickly echoed. 

" You are all amazed," she said. " Here is a let- 
ter; read it at your leisure. It comes from Padua 
from Bellario. There you shall find that Portia 
was the doctor; Nerissa there his clerk. Lorenzo 
here shall witness I set forth as soon as you, and 
but e'en now returned. I have not yet entered my 
house." 

" Were you the doctor, and I knew you not? " 
asked Bassanio, eagerly taking her hands and look- 
ing in her face; while Gratiano caught hold of Ne- 
rissa. "Were you the clerk?" 

They all laughed for joy, and could hardly believe 
they had been so blind, so deceived. 

And to make things even more joyful, Portia 
handed letters she had brought with her for An- 
tonio, telling him that, after all, news of three of his 
ships had come to hand — they had weathered the 



302 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

storms which had been supposed to have wrecked 
them. • 

For Lorenzo, too, there was good news, which 
Nerissa gave him with the deed made out by Shy- 
lock, that after his death all his money should come 
to him and Jessica, 

Portia looked round, and behold the stars were 
dying out in the paling sky, and from the east shafts 
of golden light announced the coming of morning. 
The birds stirred and dropped httle notes, saying 
" Good-morning " as they ruffled their feathers and 
thought of the early worm. The breeze moved and 
the flowers shook their bright heads; the sun re- 
stored to them their colours, and they sent out sweet 
scents to greet his rising. 

" It is almost morning," said Portia. " Let us 
go in." 

And so to breakfast — while Gratiano, holding 
Nerissa's hand, announced with his merry laugh: 

"Well, while I live I'll fear no other thing 
So sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring." 



HAMLET 

CHAPTER I 

IN the days when Denmark was a great kingdom 
there was a good King called Hamlet. He re- 
ceived tribute every year, even from such a great 
country as England, and had been victorious in a 
war against that mighiy pirate King of Norway, 
Fortinbras. In this war Fortinbras finally lost not 
only his life, but forfeited all the lands he had for- 
merly seized from Denmark. 

Under the rule of King Hamlet the Danish people 
were happy and prosperous, and great was the grief 
throughout the land when one day the King was 
found lying dead in the orchard of his royal palace 
at Elsinore. 

It was the custom of King Hamlet to betake him- 
self every afternoon to this favourite spot, and there 
to rest awhile under the blossoming cherry and ap- 
ple trees. His brother Claudius gave out that the 
King had been bitten by a poisonous snake while 
sleeping in the orchard. Claudius himself, so he 
said, had found the King lying dead on the ground. 
He had at once sent for Queen Gertrude, who ap- 
peared overwhelmed with grief at the sight of her 

dead lord. 

303 



304 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

The King had an only son named also Hamlet. 
This son admired and loved his father with all his 
heart. He was of a noble, thoughtful nature, and, 
though well able to use his sword, preferred a studi- 
ous, peaceful life to one of fighting and broils. To 
this young Prince the sudden tragedy of his father's 
death came as a great sorrow, to which presently was 
added the bitter disillusion of his mother's most 
strange and unseemly conduct. 

For Queen Gertrude, who at first had mingled her 
tears and lamentations with those of her son, soon 
not only ceased to weep, but appeared to find ample 
consolation in the society of her dead husband's 
brother. This Claudius was the very opposite in all 
respects of the late King, being of a crafty, crooked 
nature, and with a countenance to match: a man for 
whom Hamlet had always felt an instinctive dislike, 
notwithstanding his most plausible and glib tongue. 

It was with horror and amazement, therefore, 
that within two months of his father's death the mar- 
riage was suddenly announced of Queen Gertrude 
to Claudius, together with the proclamation of the 
latter as King of Denmark. Hamlet himself was the 
rightful heir to the throne; but he found that his 
uncle had, with his plausible talk, so worked out his 
own crafty plans that the people gave him their vote 
on condition that Hamlet should succeed him. Yet 
the Danes were loyally devoted to their Prince, 
and how they came to agree to this was almost as 
difficult to understand as the second marriage of the 
Queen — she who had always seemed such a loving 



HAMLET 305 

and' dutiful wife, and to whom the late King had 
been so devoted. 

The more Prince Hamlet pondered on these things 
the more morose and melancholy he became. In 
vain did Claudius try to make up to him with fair 
and flattering speeches. In vain the Queen urged 
him to put aside his black clothes of mourning, and 
join in the marriage festivities. Hamlet replied bit- 
terly : 

" 'Tis not alone my inky cloak^ good mother. 
Nor customary suits of black . . . 
That can denote me truly; 
I have that within which passeth show, 
These but the trappings and the suits of woe." 

His mother was silent. She knew how hypocrit- 
ical her tears and garments of woe must appear, 
in face of her marriage with Claudius before the 
grass was green on her husband's grave. But Clau- 
dius was always ready with specious talk and argu- 
ment: 

" 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, 
Hamlet," said he, " to give these mourning duties 
to your father. But, you must know, your father 
lost a father; that father lost, lost his, and the sur- 
vivor bound in filial obligation for some term to do 
obsequious sorrow. But," he went on piously, " to 
persevere in obstinate condolement is a course of 
impious stubbornness ; 'tis unmanly grief ; it shows 
a will most incorrect to Heaven; a heart unfortified, 
a mind impatient. . . ." 



306 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

And on he went prating and preaching till poor 
Hamlet felt he would lose his senses if he listened to 
him any longer. He longed to fly from Denmark, 
and return at once to the University in Germany, 
where he had been studying. But at his mother^s 
urgent entreaty he gave up his intention for the 
present. He had, in fact, no heart for anything. 
All seemed to him " weary, stale, flat, and unprofita- 
ble." This world appeared no better than an un- 
weeded garden that grows to seed ; where only things 
rank and gross, like his uncle, flourished, and where 
a noble tree, such as his father, was cut down in one 
fatal hour. 

Even his love for the beautiful Ophelia, daughter 
of old Polonius, the Lord Chamberlain, could not di- 
vert Hamlet from his sad and bitter thoughts. For 
it was not only his father he mourned, but his 
mother, who to him was now worse than dead, since 
she showed herself both false and fickle to the mem- 
ory of his father — he who had been to her so ten- 
der and true, he feared lest even the winds of heaven 
should visit her face too roughly. 

So utterly miserable was Hamlet, he would gladly 
have ended all by taking his pwn life had he not felt 
that God has fixed his decree against such self- 
slaughter. For whereas it is a fine and noble thing 
to give your life out of love for friend or country, 
it is the act of a coward to slink out of the fight when 
it grows hot, leaving your work to be done by another. 

Hamlet was soon to learn that there was a very 
hard piece of work appointed for his doing. Among 



HAMLET SOT 

his friends Hamlet had one who was dear to him as 
Jonathan to David or Damon to Pythias, a young 
man named Horatio. One day he came to Hamlet 
with a strange story of how he and two others, offi- 
cers of the watch, had, on two occasions, seen a mys- 
terious apparition exactly resembling the late King, 
even to his beard, which was of a sable colour sil- 
vered with grey. This apparition had appeared 
just at midnight on the battlements. He was in 
complete armour; but his visor being lifted they had 
seen his face, which was pale and sorrowful. He 
had seemed about to speak when Horatio saw him, 
but just then the morning cock crew, and he had 
vanished. 

Hamlet was deeply impressed by this story, and 
determined himself to watch that same night on the 
battlements. 

" My father's spirit in arms ! " he said to himself. 
" All is not well ; I doubt some foul play." 

It was a cold, frosty night, but clear and bright. 
Suddenly, as Hamlet and his friends were conversing 
together, there, in the moonlight, appeared a figure 
exactly like the late King as he had been in life. 
Hamlet's heart stood still with fear and astonish- 
ment; but the face he saw was so unmistakably that 
of his father that he soon forgot all fear, and ad- 
dressing the figure as " Father, King, royal Dane," 
besought him to speak and tell him the meaning of 
his coming. 

For answer the ghostly figure beckoned Hamlet to 
follow him, as though he would speak with him alone. 



308 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Horatio and the two officers of the watch tried to 
hold him back, but Hamlet shook them off, threat- 
ening to make a ghost of any man who tried to stop 
him, and followed the shadowy form where it led him 
to a distant part of the battlement. There Hamlet 
stopped and begged the ghost to speak. 

" I am thy father's spirit," said the ghost. " If 
ever thou didst thy dear father love, listen now, and 
revenge his most foul and unnatural murder." 

'' Murder.? " cried Hamlet, horror-struck. 

" Murder most foul," repeated his father. " 'Tis 
given out that, sleeping in mine orchard, a serpent 
stung me ; so the whole ear of Denmark is, by a false 
process of my death, rankly abused. But know, 
thou noble youth, the serpent that did sting thy 
father's life now wears his crown." 

" Oh, my prophetic soul ! My uncle ! " cried 
Hamlet, aghast. 

The ghost then went on to say how this treacher- 
ous snake had not only murdered him by pouring 
into his ear the deadly poison, hebana, while he slept, 
but with guile and witchcraft of his cunning wits 
had obtained such an evil influence over the Queen 
that her very soul had been poisoned and completely 
won by him. 

Only in dealing just vengeance on the traitor 
Claudius, his father forbade Hamlet to do anything 
against his mother. 

" Leave her to Heaven," he said, " and to those 
thorns that in her bosom lodge to prick and sting 
her." 



HAMLET 309 

Sadly he told his son that, in that other world 
where now he dwelt, man had to reap the conse- 
quences of all sins and shortcomings done on earth, 
each soul must suffer and atone till all its stains are 
burnt and purged away. He had been permitted 
to return to earth that the dread secret of his mur- 
der might be revealed and avenged. Then, as the 
faint light of dawn began to appear, he bade fare- 
well to his dear son, saying solemnly: 

" Adieu, adieu, Hamlet ! remember me ! " 

In an instant the ghostly form vanished, and 
Hamlet was left alone, his brain and heart as though 
on fire with the awful thing he had learnt. 

" Remember thee ! remember thee ! " he kept on re- 
peating to himself. Ay, indeed, he would remember 
so long as he should live. 

Presently Horatio and the two officers, who had 
followed as near as they dared, came up and begged 
to know what had happened. But Hamlet would say 
nothing, and made them all three swear to keep se- 
cret the fact of the ghost having appeared. After- 
wards, when he and Horatio, his friend, were alone, 
he confided to him all that had passed, knowing he 
could trust him well. 



CHAPTER II 

Though the terrible secret of his father's mur- 
der weighed constantly on Hamlet's soul, he could 
not make up his mind as to the best way of 



310 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

avenging the foul crime. Claudius never stirred 
without a guard, and was by nature suspicious and 
cowardly. It was important to act with caution, 
and on no account betray his secret feelings of hate 
and loathing for this false traitor. So, the better 
to disguise his feeling and intention, Hamlet pre- 
tended to be mad. His friend Horatio alone knew 
that this madness was but feigned. 

The Queen was much disturbed, fearing that his 
mind had given way from preying overmuch on his 
father's death and her hasty marriage. Claudius 
felt perplexed and uncertain what to make of it, for 
Hamlet said things that made him very uneasy. 

Then Polonius, the Lord Chamberlain, a prosy 
and pompous old person, came to the King and Queen 
full of importance to say he had found the true 
cause of the Prince's madness and melancholy — • 
it was nothing more nor less than love for his fair 
daughter Ophelia! He brought with him a letter 
of Hamlet's in proof of this, and read it aloud: 

" Doubt that the stars are fire ; 
Doubt that the sun doth move; 
Doubt truth to be a liar; 
But never doubt I love." 

And more of the same, vowing undying love to his 
'' soul's idol," and signed with his own name. 

In obedience to her father, Opheha had given up 
this letter, being, poor maiden, in sore perplexity 
and trouble. For though she had given all her heart 
to the Prince, both her father and brother, Laertes, 



HAMLET 311 

had solemnly warned her against believing a word 
of his love-making. 

" His favour is sweet, not lasting," said Laertes ; 
" the perfume of a minute, no more. . . . Perhaps 
he loves you now; but you must fear such love, for 
his will is not his own ; he may not, as unvalued per- 
sons do, carve for himself, for on his choice depends 
the safety and the health of the whole State. Then 
weigh what loss your honour may sustain, if with 
too credent ear you list his songs or lose your 
heart." 

Ophelia knew Laertes spoke out of love for her. 
He appealed to her maidenly pride, and she prom- 
ised she would take to heart his counsel. 

Old Polonius, her father, had gone further still. 
He told poor Ophelia she was " a green girl " if she 
believed any of the tender words the Prince spoke 
to her. " Springs to catch woodcocks . . . blazes 
giving more light than heat." And he sternly bade 
her " be more scanty of her maiden presence, and 
give less time and talk to the Lord Hamlet." 

In vain Ophelia pleaded that Hamlet had spoken 
to her " only in honourable fashion." 

" Ay, fashion you may call it," the old man an- 
swered with scorn. " Go to — go to ! " 

He would not have his dearly loved daughter 
waste her heart on one who, even if he loved her, 
would not be allowed to marry her — "A Prince," 
as he said, " out of her star." 

It was in consequence of all this advice from her 
father and brother that Ophelia had given up her 



312 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

lover's letter, a letter that in reality Hamlet had 
written as a farewell. For, with this terrible busi- 
ness on hand, he must think no more of love and 
marriage, though he could not help wishing Ophelia 
to know of his undying love for her. 

The King and Queen were glad to think that per- 
haps old Polonius was right, and Hamlet's strange 
madness due to love for Ophelia, and the fact that in 
obedience to her father she had refused to see him 
any more, 

" The Prince, repulsed, fell into a sadness, then 
into a fast, thence to a watch, thence into a weak- 
ness, thence to a lightness ; and by this declension 
into the madness wherein now he raves, and all we 
wail for," explained the Lord Chamberlain, always 
a man of many words. 

" Do you think it is this ? " the King asked the 
Queen. 

" It may be very likely," Hamlet's mother an- 
swered. 

Polonius was triumphant. 

" Hath there ever been a time when I have said 
positively ' 'Tis so' and it hath proved otherwise? " 
he demanded ; and not even Claudius contradicted 
him. It was decided that, in order to prove the 
truth of Polonius' idea, a meeting should be ar- 
ranged, as though by accident, between Hamlet and 
Ophelia in the lobby, where Hamlet often retired in 
hope of being away from prying eyes. For hours 
he would pace up and down, thinking what best to 
do. Old Polonius and Claudius arranged to hide 



HAMLET 313 

behind the curtains and take note of what passed 
between the Prince and Opheha. 

To all the curious people who approached him 
and intruded on his solitude, Hamlet gave such 
strange replies thej went away convinced he had 
lost his reason. For he spoke out his mind, ut- 
tering plain and simple truths without any mincing 
or varnish — a course so unusual, it could only be 
due to madness, they concluded. But even old Po- 
lonius detected there was method in such madness. 
As, for instance, when, after boring the Prince to 
desperation, the old man said: 

" My honourable lordj I will most humbly take 
my leave of you." 

And Hamlet replied absently: 

" You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I 
will more willingly part withal; except my life, ex- 
cept my life, except my life." 

Ophelia was sent for and the Queen received her 
most graciously. Gladly now she was ready to con- 
sent to the marriage if it would restore Hamlet to 
his right mind; for, with all her faults, the Queen 
truly loved her son. 

" I do wish that your good beauties be the happy 
cause of Hamlet's wildness ; so shall I hope your vir- 
tues will bring him to his wonted way again, to both 
your honours," she said to Ophelia. 

" Madam, I wish it may," answered the gentle 
Ophelia. But she was soon to know it was not of her 
that Hamlet thought now. 

Presently he entered the lobby where she had been 



314 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

stationed with a book, while her father and the King 
hid behind the arras to note what passed. For some 
time Hamlet did not see her, but, absorbed in his 
melancholy thoughts, he spoke to himself: 

" To be, or not to be Whether it were 

nobler in the mind to suffer, and by taking arms 
against a sea of troubles oppose and fight them, or to 
die and so end the heartache and thousand troubles 
flesh is heir to." This was the question racking 
poor Hamlet's brain. 

Suddenly he perceived Ophelia also walking in the 
lobby, her head bent low over her book. 

" The fair Ophelia ! " he cried in surprise. Then 
he remembered that even to her he must keep up the 
appearance of madness. So he added in a hght tone : 
" Nymph, in thy orisons, be all my sins remem- 
bered." 

Ophelia answered sadly : 

" Good my lord, how does your honour for this 
many a day? " 

" I humbly thank you, well, well, well," replied 
Hamlet, as though she were nothing but a stranger 
to him. 

Ophelia remembered her brother's warning, 
" Sweet not lasting was the love of Princes " ; alas ! 
it was true then. Taking from her bosom a packet 
of letters and jewels, she held them out to him, say- 
ing with gentle dignity: 

" My lord, I have remembrances of yours that I 
have longed long to re-deliver; I pray you now re- 
ceive them." 



HAMLET 315 

Hamlet waved her aside. 

" No, not I ; I never gave you aught." 

" My honoured lord," said Ophelia proudly, " you 
know right well you did ; and with them, words of so 
sweet breath composed as made the things more rich ; 
their perfume lost, take these again, for to the noble 
mind rich gifts wax poor when givers prove un- 
kind." 

Her words must have cut Hamlet to the quick. 
But he steeled himself to act out the part of one 
whose reason was distraught, and to pretend he no 
longer loved, ior even remembered, her. For her 
happiness he judged it were best she should forget 
him and marry someone else, or, better still, enter 
a nunnery where she would be safe from the wicked- 
ness of the world. So he answered indifferently 
that, though he had loved her once, she should not 
have believed in him, for now he loved her not. 

" I was the more deceived," answered Ophelia bit- 
terly. 

But the next moment all bitterness was forgotten 
in her grief at the fact of so noble a mind being over- 
thrown. For Hamlet was mad, quite mad, she felt 
sure, as he went on to rave against all men, himself 
foremost among them, as " arrant knaves " ; de- 
clared he was proud, revengeful, ambitious and in- 
different honest, with more offences than he had 
thoughts to put them in, or time to act them in. 
Why should such fellows as he be suffered to crawl 
between earth and heaven? Then suddenly he 
stopped raving, and wheeling round, asked Ophelia, 



316 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

with no doubt a shrewd guess at the bulging cur^ 
tain: 

" Where's your father ? " 

" At home," answered poor Ophelia, in all inno- 
cence as to her father's hiding-place. 

" Let the doors be shut on him that he may play 
the fool nowhere but in his own house," retorted 
Hamlet. " Farewell ! " 

" Oh, help him, you sweet heavens ! " cried Ophe- 
lia in despair ; for to her loyal soul that speech alone 
settled any doubt about the Prince's madness. 

Hamlet turned as he was going, and said again 
bitterly : 

" Get thee to a nunnery. Or if thou wilt needs 
marry, marry a fool, for wise men know well enough 
what monsters you make of them. . , . To a nunnery 
go, and quickly, too. Farewell 1 " 

" Oh, heavenly powers ! " prayed poor Ophelia, 
" restore him." 

Hamlet was no longer thinking of Ophelia. It 
was the thought of his mother that tortured him, 
and, indeed, drove him to the very brink of madness, 
as he denounced all women because of the sins of 
one, as mankind are ever wont to do. 

" I have heard of your paintings, too, well enough. 
God hath given you one face, and you make your- 
selves another. You jig, you amble, and you lisp, 
and nickname God's creatures, and make your wan- 
tonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't; 
it hath made me mad. I say, we will have no more 
marriages ; those that are married already, all but 



HAMLET 317 

one, shall live ; the rest shall keep as they are. To 
a nunnery go. , . ." 

No wonder the gentle Ophelia, whose fair face was 
as guiltless of paint as the lily itself, and her pure 
soul as innocent of guile, wept for his lost reason. 
But no resentment for the insults hurled at her in- 
nocent head found place with Ophelia, no feeling 
save sorrow — sorrow so profound it went near to 
break her heart. 

" Oh, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! " she 
cried, as Hamlet strode away. ..." That noble 
and most sovereign reason, like sweet bells jangled 
out of tune and harsh. 'That unmatched form and 
feature of blown youth, blasted with ecstasy ! Oh ! 
woe is me, to have seen what I have seen, hear what 
I hear ! " 

Noiselessly the arras moved aside, and Claudius 
and Polonius reappeared, deep in converse. " This 
was no case of a love-lorn youth," said Claudius un- 
easily. " There's something in his soul o'er which 
his melancholy sits in brood, and I do doubt the 
hatch and the disclose will be some danger." His 
conscience made him feel the peril to which the old 
Chamberlain was blind. " He shall with speed to 
England for the demand of our neglected tribute. 
Haply the seas and countries different shall expel 
this something-settled matter in his heart. . . . 
What think you of it? " he asked Polonius, as though 
anxious for his counsel. But all the time he had de- 
termined that by hook or crook such a menace to 
himself must be removed, and farther than England. 



S18 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Old Polonius, who never saw beyond his own nose, 
nodded approval, though with a certain reserve, as 
he answered: 

" It shall do well. But yet I do believe the origin 
and commencement of his grief sprung from neg- 
lected love." He was not going to give up his pet 
idea so easily, *' Let his Queen mother all alone en- 
treat him to show his griefs," he advised, " and I'll 
be placed, so please you, in the ear of all their con- 
ference. Should she fail to draw his confidence, to 
England send him, or confine him where your wisdom 
best shall think." 

Meanwhile, Hamlet, intent on the subject of his 
father's murder, had, before this conversation with 
Ophelia, hit on a plan for making more sure of his 
uncle's guilt. He had misgivings lest the form he 
had seen was not truly his father, but an evil spirit 
assuming his shape and filling his mind with sus- 
picious thoughts. Some players had just arrived at 
the Court, in whose acting Hamlet formerly took 
much delight. He sent for them, and asked if they 
would play a piece called " The Murder of Gonzalo," 
into which he would insert some dozen lines. They 
agreed gladly, and the performance was fixed for the 
following night, the King, Queen, and all the Court 
to be present. 

To Horatio alone did Hamlet confide his plan. 
He bade his friend watch narrowly the face of the 
King while the play was being enacted, for in one 
scene the actors would repeat just what the ghost 
revealed had taken place in the orchard. " I, too," 



HAMLET 819 

he added, " mine eye will rivet to his face, and after 
we will both our judgments join." 

Seeing no ground for suspicion, the King and 
Queen both graciously consented to be present at 
the play. On taking their places the Queen invited 
Hamlet to come and sit at her side. But he refused, 
saying lightly: 

" No, good Mother, here is metal more attract- 
ive." Placing himself near Ophelia, he spoke in 
light jesting tones, as though he had no recollection 
of their last meeting together. His madness seemed 
to have passed, or taken on another mood equally 
painful to poor Ophelia. She answered sadly: 

" You are merry, my lord." 

" Why should a man not be merry ? " said Ham- 
let, his eyes not on Ophelia, but fixed on the faces 
of the royal pair where they sat together on the 
dais. " Look you how cheerfully my mother looks, 
and my father died within's two hours." 

" Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord," corrected 
Ophelia. 

" So long? " cried Hamlet mockingly. " Oh heav- 
ens ! die two months ago and not forgotten yet ? 
Then there's hope a great man's memory may out- 
live his life half a year ! " 

Then the actors entered and the play began. 
The story was of a duke named Gonzalo and his wife 
Baptista, who, as the play opened, declared her love 
for her husband to be so devoted she wished herself 
accurst if ever she married again. It was just the 
kind of thing Hamlet had often heard his mother 



320 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

say. He turned to her and asked her what she 
thought of the play. She answered uneasily that 
she thought the lady protested too much. 

" Oh ! but she'll keep her word 1 " cried Hamlet. 

" Have you heard the play ? " demanded Claudius 
suspiciously. " Is there no offence in't ? " 

"No, no, they do but jest," answered Hamlet; 
"poison in jest — no oifence in the world," he as- 
sured his uncle. 

"What do you call the play.?" asked Claudius. 

" The Mouse-trap," answered Hamlet, raising his 
voice so that all could hear. " This play is of a 
murder done in Vienna. Gonzalo is the Duke's 
name, his wife Baptista. You shall see anon ; 'tis a 
knavish piece of work, but what of that? Your 
Majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us 
not: let the galled jade wince, our withers are un- 
wrung. This is Lucianus," he went on, turning to 
Ophelia, " nephew to the duke." 

Then, as the actor proceeded to play the part en- 
acted by Claudius, Hamlet shouted excitedly, his 
eyes riveted on the guilty man: 

" He poisons him i' the garden for 's estate. His 
name's Gonzalo. The story is extant and writ in 
choice Italian. You shall see anon how the murderer 
gets the love of Gonzalo's wife. . . ." 

... But Claudius could bear no more. Livid 
with terror and rage, he staggered to his feet, 
calling for lights to be lit ; he must away, he was 
ill. 

" Give o'er the play ! " shouted old Polonius ; while 



HAMLET 321 

the Queen and courtiers hastened to assist the King 
to his bedchamber. 

Hamlet turned triumphantly to his faithful friend 
Horatio : 

" Oh, good Horatio ! I'll take the ghost's word for 
a thousand pound. Did'st perceive .^^ Upon the 
talk of the poisoning.^ " 

" I did very well note him, my lord," answered 
Horatio. 

Presently two young courtiers, named Rosen- 
crantz * and Guildenstern, who had been specially 
set to watch the mad Prince by his suspicious uncle, 
returned to inform Hamlet that the King was so 
wrathful that he was exceedingly ill. 

Their solemn pompous manners, which he well 
knew covered mean and treacherous designs, irritated 
Hamlet. 

" Your wisdom," he answered with mock polite- 
ness, " would show itself more by signifying this 
to his doctor. For me to put him to his pur- 
gation would perhaps plunge him into far more 
choler." 

" Good, my lord," said Guildenstern, trying to 
wear a haughty mien ; " put your discourse into 
some frame, and start not so wildly from my affair." 

" I am tame, sir ; pronounce," replied Hamlet in 
the same tone. 

" The Queen, your mother, in most great afflic- 
tion of spirit, hath sent me to you," said Guilden- 
stern, trying a new tack. 

* Signifying rose-wreath and gilded star. 



322 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" You are welcome," said the Prince, with mock 
politeness. 

Guildenstem bit his lip with vexation, and his 
manner was more pompous and silly than ever as he 
answered : 

" Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the 
right breed. If it shall please you to make me a 
wholesome answer, I will do your mother's command- 
ment; if not, your pardon, and my return shall be 
the end of my business." 

" Sir, I cannot," replied Hamlet briefly. 

" What, my lord ? " inquired Guildenstern, blankly, 
having missed his own question among his labyrinth 
of words. 

" Make you a wholesome answer," replied the 
Prince. " My wit's diseased ; but such answer as I 
can make you shall command ; or rather, as you say, 
my mother. Therefore, no more, but to the matter 
■ — my mother, you say ? " 

There was a look in Hamlet's face now that made 
the shallow courtier quail and shrivel. Rosencrantz 
stepped in with attempt to pour oil on the rising wa- 
ters. 

" Thus says the Queen, your behaviour hath struck 
her into amazement and admiration." 

Hamlet replied to this obvious lie with his discon- 
certing sense of humour: 

" Oh, wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother ! 
But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's 
admiration? Impart." 

" She desires to speak with you in her closet ere 



HAMLET 323 

you go to bed," answered the Rose-wreath, feeling 
rather faded. 

" We shall obey were she ten times our mother," 
replied Hamlet, serious enough now as he thought 
of what that interview would be. " Have you any 
further trade with us ? " he asked haughtily of the 
two messengers. 

" My lord, you once did love me," ventured Ros- 
encrantz cringingly ; for he felt now, when too late, 
they had lost the Prince's favour, and their instruc- 
tions were, as former friends of Hamlet, to obtain 
his confidence and betray him then to Claudius. 

But Hamlet knew them for what they were. He 
answered the false friend with scorn: 

" So I do still, by these pickers and stealers." 

'' Good my lord, what is your cause of distem- 
per .f* " persisted Rosencrantz. " You do surely bar 
the door upon your own liberty if you deny your 
griefs to your friend." 

" Sir, I lack advancement," answered Hamlet, 
thinking in vain how best to advance his plan of at- 
tack on the murderer of his father. 

" How can that be when you have the voice of the 
King himself for your succession in Denmark .f* " 
said Rosencrantz, thinking he referred to his usurped 
kingdom. 

" Ay, sir ; but while the grass grows ? " Then 
he turned on the pair with sudden indignation and 
told them straight what he thought of them for this 
base attempt to drive him into a toil, to pluck out 
the heart of his secret sorrow, to sound him from the 



SM SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

lowest note to the top of his compass. But he was 
no pipe for their playing, he let them know. 
Though they could fret him, they could draw no 
sound from him. Discomfited and silenced at last, 
the two courtiers retired to report all to their mas- 
ter Claudius, and with him to plot the death of 

Hamlet. 

. • ■ • • ' • • 

Hamlet found his mother in great agitation about 
the play. She feared the wrath of Claudius would 
fall on the son she loved. So she began reproach- 
fully: 

" Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended." 

He answered her sternly, indignant that she 
should dare refer to Claudius so: 

" Mother, thou hast my father much offended." 

" Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue," 
said the Queen impatiently. 

" Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue," 
retorted Hamlet. 

" Why, how now, Hamlet ! Have you forgot 
me.?" 

She was always accustomed to respect and affec- 
tion from her son. 

Hamlet replied in a tone that alarmed her : 

" No, by the rood, not so ; you are the Queen, 
your husband's brother's wife; and — would it were 
not so ! — you are my mother." 

" Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak," 
she answered angrily, moving towards the door. 

But Hamlet seized her by the wrist and forced 



HAMLET 325 

her to sit down, saying she should not budge till he 
had shown her her own inmost soul as in a glass. 

Frightened by his stern manner and the report 
of his madness, Queen Gertrude cried out for help, 
fearing he might kill her. 

Old Polonius, hiding behind the arras, echoed the 
cry : " Help, help, help ! " and Hamlet, thinking it 
was the treacherous Claudius in hiding, and that 
now his chance of dealing justice on him had come, 
plunged his sword through the curtain, shouting as 
he did so: 

" How now ! a rat ?' Dead for a ducat — dead ! " 

A voice groaned out : " Oh, I am slain ! " 

Old Polonius had played the dangerous game of 
hiding behind curtains once too often. 

" Oh me! what hast thou done.? " cried the Queen, 
horror-struck. 

" Nay, I know not," said Hamlet. " Is it the 
King? " 

" Oh, what a rash and bloody deed is this ! " She 
wrung her hands. 

" A bloody deed ! " cried Hamlet. *' Almost as 
bad, good mother, as kill a king and marry with his 
brother." 

" As kill a king ! " gasped his mother. 

" Ay, lady, 'twas my word." He lifted the arras 
and dragged out the body of old Polonius, whom his 
sword had pierced through and killed. " Thou 
wretched, rash, intruding fool ! " said Hamlet, look- 
ing at the dead man. " Farewell ! I took thee for 
thy better.' 



55 



326 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Then he turned again to his mother, for he had 
no time to waste on old Polonius with such stern 
business before him. 

" Leave wringing of your hands ... sit you 
down and let me wring your heart," he said, " if it 
be made of penetrable stuff." 

" What have I done that thou iiarest wag thy 
tongue in noise so rude against me ? " she demanded 
nervously. 

And then Hamlet, as he had threatened, held up 
the glass to her that she might see her conduct in 
all its hideous truth. He did not spare her, yet he 
spoke in such deep grief that she, his mother, whom 
once he had loved and honoured, could so have fallen 
that, instead of anger, he roused in her bitter shame 
and remorse. 

" Oh, Hamlet ! " she cried at last, " speak no more ; 
thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul, and there 
I see such black and grained spots as will not leave 
their tinct ! " 

But Hamlet insisted on showing her the true pic- 
ture of the man for whom she had betrayed his noble 
kingly father. 

" A murderer and a villain — a slave — a cut- 
purse of the empire and rule, that from a shelf the 
precious diadem stole, and put it in his pocket — a 
king of shreds and patches ! " he said, with righteous 
scorn. 

And suddenly, while Hamlet was speaking, the 
dim, ghostly figure of his father stood again before 
him. Not clear and distinct as on the ramparts, 



HAMLET 327 

when not only he, but Horatio and the officers of 
the guard, had seen him, but faint and shadowy. 
Hamlet was startled. 

" What would your gracious figure? " he asked. 
"Do you not come your tardy son to chide?" 
For the dread command, he felt guiltily was not yet 
fulfilled. 

To the Queen Hamlet appeared to be speaking 
with the empty air, and this convinced her more than 
ever of his disordered brain. She did not hear the 
low spirit voice which spoke alone to the listening 
ear of her son, bidding him not forget nor weaken 
in his undertaking, urging him also to continue fight- 
ing for his mother's weak and wavering soul. 

" Alas ! " she cried, " how is't with you that you 
do bend your eye on vacancy, and with the incor- 
poral air do hold discourse! . . . Oh, gentle son, 
whereon do you look? " 

" On him, on him ! " cried Hamlet, surprised his 
mother was unable to see the spirit form. " Do you 
see nothing there? " 

" Nothing at all," said the Queen ; " and yet all 
that is I see," she added, trembhng. 

"Nor did you notliing hear?" asked Hamlet, in 
amazement. 

" No, nothing but ourselves," replied his mother. 

" Why, look you there ! " cried Hamlet, pointing 
eagerly to the retreating figure ; " look how he steals 
away — my father in his habit as he lived ! Look 
where he goes, even now, out at the portal ! " 

But the Queen, since she had seen nothing, as- 



328 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

sured her son this was but the fever of his over- 
wrought brain. 

Then very quietly and earnestly he showed her 
he had no fevered pulse, no heated brow. He was 
cooler now, and calmer far than she herself. 

" Mother, for love of grace," he begged her, " lay 
not that flattering unction to your soul, that not 
your trespass, but my madness, speaks. . . . Con- 
fess yourself to Heaven, repent what's past, avoid 
what is to come, and do not spread the compost on 
the weeds to make them ranker." 

" Oh, Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain," 
wept the Queen, convinced in spite of herself, and 
overcome with remorse. 

" Oh, throw away the worser part of it," 
answered her son, rejoicing in her tears of repent- 
ance, " and live the purer with the other half. . . . 
Good-night ; and when you are desirous to be 
bless'd, I'll blessing beg of you. ... I must be 
cruel only to be kind." 

Then he bade her have nothing more to do with 
that base murderer Claudius, nor let him know of 
the secret things that had passed between them, nor 
that his madness was but feigned. 

And the Queen, deeply moved, gave her promise. 

" Be thou assured, if words be made of breath, 
and breath of life, I have no life to breathe what 
thou hast said to me." 

Then Hamlet bade his mother again " good-night 
and farewell," for the King's order was to send him 
at once to England with his two former schoolfel- 



HAMLET 329 

lows, Rosencrantz and Guildenstem — " whom I will 
trust," observed Hamlet grimly, " as I will adders 
fanged." 

Going to where the body of old Polonius lay still 
upon the floor, he dragged him away. 

" For this same lord I do repent," he said sin- 
cerely, and promised to see to the burial of Polonius, 
and to answer for his death. 

Much sorrow for the man who had proved so 
faithless a servant to his father and himself, he could 
not pretend; his regret was that his had been the 
hand unknowingly to despatch him, for, after all, 
he was the father of Ophelia, his sweet love. 



CHAPTER HI 

The Queen kept her promise to her son. When 
Claudius sought to know what had passed, and 
where now was Hamlet, she assured him her poor 
son was " mad as the sea and wind when both con- 
tend in a storm." In proof of this she told how, 
hearing something stir behind the arras, he had 
whipped out his rapier, crying, " A rat ! a rat ! " 
and so by accident killed the " unseen good old man." 

At this news Claudius quaked in his shoes. 

" Oh, heavy deed ! " he cried. " It had been so 
with us had we been there." In which surmise he 
was undoubtedly perfectly right. " Where is he 
now ? " he asked nervously. 

The Queen, whose one object was to protect her 



330 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

son, assured the King that even in his madness Ham- 
let's nature showed itself pure and noble, for he now 
wept for what he had done. 

Claudius knew had his been the dead body these 
tears would have been but few. He felt he could 
feel not a moment's peace till Hamlet, mad or sane, 
was safe at sea, and he bade Rosencrantz and Guild- 
ens tern hurry their departure and start that same 
night, bearing with them a mandate to the English 
Court demanding that directly Hamlet set foot in 
England, he should, as a danger both to England 
and Denmark and the world in general, be put to 
death without delay. The slaying of old Polonius 
now gave Claudius just the excuse he needed for 
banishing Hamlet. Gladly he would have put him 
to death then and there, but that he was a coward, 
and ever preferred crooked ways to straight ones, 
in all his dealings. 

So that same night Hamlet found himself forced 
to set sail from Denmark, his vengeance still unac- 
complished. But he determined not to be long 
absent, and to keep an eye on the two " f anged 
adders " sent with him. 

Watching his opportunity one night, while they 
slept, he opened the mandate they bore from Clau- 
dius to the English Court. Therein he read of 
the treacherous design he had suspected. Quickly 
he hit on a plan by which not only he would escape, 
but a just retribution fall on the two " adders." 
Writing a new letter, he substituted for his own 
name that of the traitors Rosencrantz and Guilden- 



HAMLET 331 

stern; then sealed it with the royal signet of Den- 
mark — his father's seal, which providentially he 
carried with him, the same Claudius had had copied 
for his own use. This letter, looking exactly like 
the other, and being folded in the same manner, the 
exchange was never suspected. 

Two days later the ship on which they sailed was 
attacked by some pirates. During the fight Hamlet 
jumped into the sea and boarded the enemy's vessel; 
his own meanwhile made off, and left him to his fate. 
The pirates, on learning who Hamlet was, agreed, 
if he would do them a good turn in the future, to 
land him on the Danish" coast. Directly his foot 
touched land, Hamlet sent for Horatio to join him, 
and dispatched a letter to Claudius announcing his 
return. 

Meanwhile Laertes, the son of old Polonius, hear- 
ing of his father's death, had hurried back from 
France. Furious, he rushed to the Palace, and de- 
manded the King to render an account of his father's 
mysterious death and hasty burial, which had lacked 
all due ceremonies and honours. For Claudius, 
fearing inquiry into the manner of old Polonius's 
death, had stowed him away, as he confessed to the 
Queen, " in hugger-mugger " fashion, thereby excit- 
ing only the more talk. 

Claudius soon succeeded in turning the wrath of 
Laertes from himself to Hamlet. He made out such 
a good case as to win Laertes completely over, and 
make him an easy tool in his cunning hands. 

Another tragic calamity still further helped 



832 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

Claudius in his design, and added fuel to the fire 
of Laertes' hate. The sister he loved, the gentle 
Opheha, had taken to heart so deeply her father's 
death, and, above all, his dying by the hand of Ham- 
let, that she had lost her mind with grief. All day 
she would wander in the woods alone, singing to her- 
self songs of love and death, plucking the wild 
flowers, and giving them to passers-by. 

Laertes had as yet heard nothing of his sister's 
sad state, when all at once, as he spoke to the King, 
there was a disturbance outside. Voices cried: 
" Let her come in ! " and Laertes, to his dismay, 
beheld his sister Ophelia. She entered, without 
seeming to notice either the King or her brother. 
On her fair head was a wreath of wild flowers, and 
she trailed long branches with her. As in a dream 
she wandered round, singing a plaintive little ditty: 

" They bore him barefaced on the bier, 
Hey non nonny, nonny^ hey nonny. 
And on his grave rained many a tear." 

" heat, dry up my brains ! Tears seven times 
salt burn out the sense and virtue of my eye ! " cried 
Laertes in despair. " Oh, rose of May, dear maid, 
kind sister, sweet Ophelia, is't possible a young 
maid's wits should be as mortal as an old man's 
life ! " Then, gripping his sword, he cried : " By 
Heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight, till 
our scale turns the beam." 

Ophelia looked sadly into his face as she mur- 
mured : 



HAMLET 333 

" Fare you well, my dove ! " 

" Hadst thou thy wits and didst persuade revenge, 
it could not move me thus ! " he cried in heartbroken 
tones. 

But Ophelia did not even know her brother. 

" There's rosemary," she said, as she gave him 
of lier flowers. " That^s for remembrance ; pray 
you, love, remember. And there's pansies ; that's 
for thoughts." And then she wandered on, singing 
to herself: 

" And will he not come again } 
No, no, he is dead. 
Go to thy death-bed. 
He never will come again. 

** His beard as white as snow. 
All flaxen was his poll; 

He is gone, he is gone. 

And we cast away moan: 
God ha' mercy on his soul ! " 

" And of all Christian souls, I pray God," she 
added with a sigh as she went out. " God be with 
you." 

Laertes's grief was just what the evil Claudius 
needed to serve his purpose. He desired a stanch 
supporter when the news of Hamlet's death, for 
which he trusted he had provided, should be divulged. 
Artfully he pretended to share his sorrow, assuring 
him of his great love for old Polonius, and friendship 
for himself, adding that " he who had slain Laertes's 



334* SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

noble father, and caused his sister's melancholy mad- 
ness, had also conspired against his own royal 
person." 

Laertes inquired why the King had not punished 
such crime and treason with death. Claudius had 
two excellent special reasons with which to satisfy 
all such questions. Namely, because that the Queen, 
his mother, doted on Hamlet, and she herself was 
so necessary to the existence of Claudius he dared 
not risk the loss of her favour. Also, that the peo- 
ple of Denmark bore to this same Hamlet such love 
and devotion they " dipped all his faults in their 
affection." Any arrows, therefore, sent against him 
would but revert on the sender's head, 

" And so," cried Laertes, " I have a noble father 
lost, a sister driven into desperate terms. . . . But 
my revenge will come." 

Even as he spoke a messenger arrived bringing 
Hamlet's letter. 

Trembling, Claudius read: 

" High and mighty, you shall know I am set naked 
on your kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg leave to 
see your kingly eyes, when I shall, first asking par- 
don thereon, recount the occasions of my sudden 
and more strange return. 

" Hamlet." 

So the plot had failed. Now was the time to use 
Laertes. He, on hearing of Hamlet's return, would 
have rushed to meet him, and with drawn sword de- 
manded to be avenged of his father's death in 



HAMLET SS5 

straightforward combat. But Claudius, fearing 
that he might be suspected of instigating such a 
fight, persuaded Laertes it would be far better to 
disguise his wrath and challenge Hamlet to a seem- 
ing friendly encounter with foils. Hamlet being 
unsuspicious, it would be easy for Laertes during 
the contest to take up a weapon unbated, and with 
a poisoned point avenge his father's death. Yet 
" no wind of blame shall breathe, and even his mother 
shall call it accident," said Claudius. 

CHAPTER IV 

Horatio lost no time in going to the assistance 
of Hamlet, who had been cast destitute upon the 
shores of his own kingdom. Together they then 
journeyed with all haste to Elsinore, Hamlet with 
his father's words ever sounding in his ear — " Re- 
member me." 

As they passed the churchyard at Elsinore they 
saw that a funeral was about to take place, and, 
wondering whose it might be, they stopped and ques- 
tioned the grave-digger. 

" What man dost thou dig this grave for ? " in- 
quired Hamlet. 

" For no man, sir," replied the grave-digger. 

" What woman, then? " said the Prince. 

" For none neither," was the answer. 

"Who is to be buried in it?" Hamlet persisted. 

" One that was a woman, sir ; but, rest her soul, 
she's dead." 



336 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" How long hast thou been a grave-digger? " 
asked Hamlet, interested to find a man of his calling 
with such a waggish tongue. 

" Of all the days i' the year I came to 't that day 
our last King Hamlet o'ercame Fortinbras . . . the 
very day young Hamlet was born; he that is mad 
and sent to England." 

"Ay, marry; why was he sent to England.^" 
asked Hamlet. 

"Why? because he was mad," replied the grave- 
digger, digging away with vigour ; " he shall recover 
his wits there, or if he do not, 'tis no great matter 
there." 

"Why?" 

This grave-digger made Hamlet forget for a mo- 
ment how sad a thing life was. 

" 'Twill not be seen in him there," replied the old 
man ; " there the men are as mad as he." 

Which assertion Hamlet never dreamt of disput- 
ing. He inquired instead: "How came he mad?" 

" Very strangely," answered the grave-digger, 
shaking his head. 

" How strangely ? " 

Hamlet wondered what his people said among 
themselves concerning his reported madness. But 
the old grave-digger answered shrewdly: 

" Faith, e'en with losing his wits." 

"Upon what ground?" persisted Hamlet. 

" Why, here in Denmark." 

There was nothing to be got out of this grave- 
digger, except indeed a ready wit and reply, what- 



HAMLET 337 

ever the question. Hamlet watched him as he dug 
among the ancient bones in the churchyard dust. 
All that remained of men who had once been great 
and powerful. What a little brief thing was this 
life; greatness and power and riches how fleeting! 
Even the great Alexander, conqueror of the world 
of his own day, died, was buried, and turned to dust, 
just like the poorest beggar. " The dust is of 
earth," he said, turning to Horatio, " of earth we 
make loam ; and why of that loam might they not 
stop a beer barrel? 

** Imperious Caesar, dead and'turned to clay 
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away; 
Oh, that that earth which kept the world in awe 
Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw." 

So much for earthly greatness ! Yet men sold 
their souls for it, and committed even such base mur- 
ders as had this Claudius. 

• •••••• 

And now the funeral procession from the castle 
came slowly in sight. Hamlet and Horatio stepped 
aside where, without themselves being seen, they 
could watch everything. The King and Queen and 
all the Court followed with the train of mourners; 
yet there was no music, no chaunting, no funeral 
rites. This signified, as both Hamlet and Horatio 
knew, that though the person to be buried was of 
high estate, the death had been owing to suicide. 

As the procession halted round the grave, Hamlet 
noted Laertes followed as chief mourner. 



338 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

" That is Laertes, a very noble youth, mark," he 
said to Horatio, as Laertes, stepping forward, de- 
manded of the officiating priest, a hard, sour-faced 
man, what further ceremony was to take place. 

" No more can be done," replied the priest. 
" Her death was doubtful, and but that great com- 
mand "-— he looked askance at the King arid Queen 
— " o'ersways the order, she should in ground un- 
sanctified have lodged. , . . We should profane 
the service of the dead to sing a requiem and such 
rest to her as to peace-departed souls." 

" Lay her i' the earth," cried Laertes indignantly. 
" and from her fair and unpolluted flesh may violets 
spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, a ministering 
angel shall my sister be when thou liest howling." 

At these words Hamlet's heart stood still. His 
sister ! Then this sad, pitiful funeral, without music 
or prayer, was for Ophelia, once his own fair, sweet 
love. 

The Queen stood over the open grave. Weeping, 
she threw in flowers. 

" Sweets to the sweet," she sighed. " Farewell ! 
I hoped thou should'st have been my Hamlet's wife ; 
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, 
and not have strew'd thy grave." 

" Oh, treble woe fall ten times on that cursed head 
whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense deprived 
thee of," cried Laertes in his grief, as he gazed on 
the pale, sweet face of his loved sister. " Hold off the 
earth awhile " — he waved aside the grave-diggers • — ' 
*' till I have caught her once more in mine arms." 



HAMLET 339 

So saying, he leapt into the open grave and cried 
on them to heap the earth above him too. 

Then Hamlet rushed forward and leapt also into 
the grave. " This is I, Hamlet the Dane," he 
shouted, beside himself. " I loved Ophelia ; forty 
thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity 
of love, make up my sum." 

" The devil take thy soul 1 " cried Laertes, grap- 
pling with him fiercely. 

" Thou pray est not well. I pr'ythee take thy 
fingers from my throat," said Hamlet, defending 
himself as best he could from this unexpected attack. 
The last person he desired"' to harm was the brother, 
of Ophelia, but he was forced to make a stand. 

" Pluck them asunder," cried Claudius, fearing 
his prey might yet escape him. The Queen also im- 
plored her son to cease fighting. Horatio and the 
attendants parted them. 

" What is the reason that you use me thus ? " 
Hamlet demanded indignantly of Laertes. " I loved 
you ever." 

Laertes gave no reply, and Hamlet, seeing that 
all looked coldly on him, left the churchyard, fol- 
lowed by lus faithful friend Horatio. 

CHAPTER V 

Hamlet was truly sorry to have forgotten him- 
self with Laertes. He felt that in many ways 
they shared the same griefs, and he determined 
to apologize and make friends with him as soon as 



840 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

possible. When a messenger arrived, therefore, ask- 
ing Hamlet whether he would accept a friendly chal- 
lenge from Laertes to try an encounter with the 
rapier before the King and his Court, Hamlet agreed, 
though he had little desire for such a thing. 

His sole object in life was to fulfil the ghost*s 
command and deal vengeance on the evil Claudius; 
but how to carry this out he could not yet see. One 
thing he was determined — Claudius must die, and 
die soon, even though he had to slay him with his 
own hand. The Queen, his mother, was the great 
difficulty, for he desired to spare her all he could. 

Claudius also desired to spare the Queen while 
killing her son, but he was more fertile in invention 
than Hamlet. Not only had he arranged that the 
foil of Laertes should be poisoned, but, in case of 
any accident to his plan, he prepared also a poisoned 
cup which he himself would hand to Hamlet, after 
Brst pretending to drink of it to his success. And 
to disarm all suspicion, Claudius laid a heavy wager 
on Hamlet's winning, though Laertes' fame as a 
swordsman when in France, had convinced Claudius 
that he was superior to Hamlet. 

Horatio did not like the idea of this duel, backed 
by the false King. Hamlet, he could see, was averse 
to it, and he prophesied the Prince would lose, in 
spite of the fact of his well-known skill with the 
rapier. 

" I do not think so," Hamlet answered him ; 
'' since Laertes went into France I have been in con- 
tinual practice. I shall win at the odds. But," 



HAMLET 341 

he added, " thou wouldst not think how ill all's here 
about my heart — but 'tis no matter." 

Whether he lost or won was nothing to him ; he 
only accepted the challenge because, to refuse, would 
have been to slight Laertes. 

Again Horatio tried to turn Hamlet from this 
so-called trial of skill. 

** If your mind dishke anything, obey it," he 
urged ; " I will go and say you are not fit." 

But Hamlet refused to listen to him: 

*' We defy augury," he said ; " there's a special 
providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 
'tis not to come ; if it be not to come, it will be now ; 
if it be not now, yet it will come — the readiness is 
all. Since no man has aught of what he leaves, 
what is't to leave betimes? Let be." 

Before they began the encounter, Hamlet advanced 
to meet Laertes with hand outstretched in friend- 
ship, and words of generous apology: 

" Give me your pardon, sir," he said. " I've done 
you wrong, but pardon it as you are a gentleman. 
This presence knows, and you must have heard, how 
I am punished with a sore distraction. . . . Sir, in 
this audience, let my disclaiming from a purposed 
evil free me so far in your most generous thoughts 
that I have shot mine arrow o'er the house and hurt 
my brother." 

Laertes had once loved Hamlet, and had it not 
been for the poison instilled into his mind by that 
arch-poisoner Claudius, he must there and then have 
given up his treacherous design, which, indeed, was 



34S SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

quite foreign to his nature. As it was, he made but 
a lame answer, though giving his hand in token that 
he accepted the proffered friendship of the Prince. 
Hamlet rejoiced to be again friends with Laertes, and 
called quite cheerfully for the foils, saying he would 
gladly now " play this brother's wager," and adding : 

" I'll be your foil, Laertes ; in mine ignorance your 
skill shall, like a star i' the darkest night, stick fiery 
off indeed." 

But Laertes was in no spirit to enjoy a jest. 
This business he had undertaken was already repug- 
nant to him. He answered coldly, as he took up 
the poisoned foil: 

" You mock me, sir." 

" No, by this hand," answered Hamlet earnestly. 

" Set me the stoups of wine upon that table ! " 
cried the King. " If Hamlet give the first or sec- 
ond hit, or quit in answer of the third exchange, 
let all the battlements their ordnance fire ; the King 
shall drink to Hamlet's better breath . . . Come, 
begin, and you, the judges, bear a wary eye." 

In accordance with the King's instructions Laer- 
tes allowed Hamlet to get the better of him in the 
first round. The cannon were fired in his honour, 
and the King called loudly: 

" Hamlet, here's to thy health ! , , . Give him 
the cup." 

But Hamlet answered, waving aside the proffered 
wine: 

" I'll play this bout first ; set it awhile." 

Again they played, a serious game now, and the 



HAMLET 343 

King began to fear that after all Hamlet was the bet- 
ter swordsman, and Laertes would get no chance even 
to prick him with the poisoned weapon. He watched 
them anxiously. Again Hamlet came off victor in 
the second round. The Queen was also watching 
anxiously. She noted that, in spite of his skill, Ham- 
let looked ill, and seemed short of breath and very 
hot. She, too, urged him to drink of the cup, and 
lifting it first to her own lips she called to him: 

" The Queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet." 

" Gertrude, do not drink ! " cried Claudius, seiz- 
ing the cup in sudden alarm. But it was too late. 
The Queen had taken a deep draught from the 
poisoned cup, and nothing now could save her he 
knew but too well. 

" I dare not drink yet, madam," answered Ham- 
let ; " by and by." 

As they prepared for the third bout, Laertes 
whispered to Claudius, who he noticed had become 
deadly pale: 

" My lord, I'll hit him now." 

" I do not think it," answered Claudius. He felt 
disaster was closing in on every side. 

" And yet," said Laertes to himself, as he handled 
the deadly foil, and looked at the man he had sworn 
to kill, " 'tis* almost against my conscience." He 
hesitated. 

" Come for the third, Laertes," cried Hamlet, 
eager to be finished with the contest. " You but 
dally. I pray you pass with your best violence. 
I am afraid you make a wanton of me." He saw 



BU SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

well Laertes had not yet put forth his best skill. 

"Say you so?" cried Laertes, with a sudden re- 
solve not to weaken, as he remembered his dead father 
and sister. " Come on ! " 

And this time there was a deadly purpose in his 
play, and Hamlet found himself suddenly wounded 
by a naked point. Then he closed with Laertes, and 
in the scuffle Laertes dropped his weapon, and Ham- 
let, without noticing, picked it up in exchange for 
his own, and wounded, in his turn, Laertes. They 
fought now desperately, both bleeding. 

" Part them ! " cried the King. " They are in- 
censed." 

But Hamlet answered : " Nay, come again." 

^ust at that moment there was a cry which caused 
Hamlet to pause. 

"Hoi look to the Queen." 

The trembling King turned ; but too late to save 
the Queen, who swayed and fell forward heavily. 

" How does the Queen ? " asked Hamlet, anxiously 
rushing to his mother's side. 

" She swounds to see them bleed," stammered the 
King. 

" No, no ! " gasped the dying Queen ; " the drink, 
the drink! Oh, my dear Hamlet! . . . The drink, 
the drink! I am poisoned." With this her head 
fell back. She was dead. 

" villainy ! " shouted Hamlet, beside himself 
with grief and fury. "Ho! let the door be locked. 
Treachery! Seek it out." 



HAMLET 345 

In the tumult that followed Laertes staggered 
forward, and then fell, calling to Hamlet : " It is 
here, Hamlet." And as Hamlet bent over him he 
murmured : " Hamlet, thou art slain ; no medicine in 
the world can do thee good. In thee there is not 
half an hour of life; the treacherous instrument is 
in thy hand, unbated and envenom'd. The foul prac- 
tice hath turn'd itself on me. Lo, here I lie, never 
to rise again ; thy mother's poisoned. I can no more 
— the King, the King's to blame." 

" The point envenom'd, too ? " cried Hamlet. 
*' Then venom to thy work." And before the quak- 
ing Claudius could realize what was about to happen 
next, amid the cries of treachery and lamentations 
round the dead Queen, Hamlet, like an avenging fate, 
confronted him. Another moment and the poisoned 
weapon was driven straight home to the poisoner. 

" Treason ! treason ! " cried all the courtiers, run- 
ning away. 

" Oh, yet defend me, friends ! " gasped Claudius, 
in wildest terror. " I am but hurt." 

Hamlet seized the poisoned cup; he would have 
no doubt upon this point. 

" Here, thou murderous, damned Dane ! " he cried, 
forcing the drink down the King's throat. " Drink 
oiF this potion. . , • Follow my mother." 

So Claudius the poisoner died of his own poison, 
and as the dying Laertes said truly, " He was justly 
served." 

" Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet," 



DEO 3 1913 

346 SHAKESPEARE'S STORIES 

begged Laertes. " Mine and my father's death come 
not upon thee, nor thine on me." 

" Heaven make thee free of it ! " said Hamlet. " I 
follow thee," 

Then he turned to his faithful friend Horatio, and 
took farewell of him. Horatio would fain have died, 
too, with his beloved Prince; but Hamlet bade him 
live and tell this sad story, even as it happened, that 
all the world might know the trath. 

So saying, Hamlet fell back dead in his friend's 
arms. 

And Horatio, as he looked for the last time on the 
still face of Hamlet, took comfort, for, in place of 
anguish, melancholy, and unrest, he saw there a 
great calm and peace. 

" Good-night, sweet Prince," he said ; " may 
flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." 



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